What Lies Beneath
by Master Slytherin
Summary: COMPLETE. H/Tracey. The diary left more than battle wounds. Voldemort's ingenuity planned for more than Harry initially assumed. The time has come when he must pierce the shades of grey that colour the Wizarding World. A fast-paced, psychological thriller
1. Shattering Dreams

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine.

I'll say the thanks once in the first chapter so as not to clutter up the other chapters. I'll only deviate from this if there are extra thanks to new contributors.

**Thanks To:** (in no particular order) Taure, ip82, JBern, viking, Japanese Jew and all the guys at DLP who left such helpful comments.

**Special Thanks To:** Amerision, for the original idea which I found so profound and brilliant that I felt compelled to write it. Apocalypso, who has been absolutely amazing as a sounding board and a source of ideas, putting in many hours of his time to mould this into what it is now. I feel this fic is as much his as it is mine.

**Summary:** Pre-DH. AU from PoA. Riddled by dreams and memories, Harry finds himself uncertain of his destiny. He loses his innocence, his perception of the past, but will he lose himself? The time has come when he truly must pierce the shades of grey and choose between what is right and what is easy. No slash.

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– **CHAPTER ONE –**

**Shattering Dreams**

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Waking up was never an easy task. The drowsiness and slight disorientation associated with the brutal call of consciousness is one every boy has felt and I was no exception. However, today was different. I didn't need my eyesight to notice it, it somehow smelt different. The air was stale and cold. The bed was hard. Slowly, I opened my eyes, or at least I thought I did.

It struck me as rather odd that I got up without reaching for my glasses on the bedside table, a habit so engraved in my routine that I rarely thought of it. After putting on some black robes (I found no house badge on it), the common room was my next destination. If the sudden uplift of my line of sight gave nothing away, the mass of greens and greys which met me did. I recognised the room instantly from our adventures last year.

It was the Slytherin Common room.

Despite my shock, I strolled - no, _strutted_ - purposefully towards the exit. The disbelief did not allow me to register how early it was – dawn was yet to crack. Nor did it allow recognition of the fact I was not in control of this foreign body my mind seemed to be trapped in. The only question which resonated firmly was _how_?

My feet led me down the familiar dungeon corridors with skill I had never imagined possible of myself: my footfalls hardly made a sound and whenever a teacher came towards me, I seemed to find the perfect hiding place. First it was by transfiguring some armoury around me, then it was a quick side-track into a broom closet and finally a powerful confusion charm straight into the chest of a tall, spindly prefect.

Finally, a portrait of a full moon I had never seen previously caused me to stop. I reached out and tapped the luminous orb three times and waited. Gradually, the painting disappeared and a doorway appeared in its stead. I entered.

How am I not controlling my body? Am I being possessed? Is this a dream? Where am I?

Through the doorway I went and found myself in the heart of a thicket of trees, a place I knew to be the Forbidden Forest. Without breaking so much as a twig on the dense, moist ground, I weaved in and out of the menacing foliage. I spotted movement out of the corner of my eye but ignored it. _Where am I going?_

"Voldemort, you're late." My mind span. _Voldemort?_ I could not believe it, refused to believe it, even. Trapped inside the body of a younger Voldemort was not a place I wished to find myself.

"I am never late," I replied coldly as the trees thinned to reveal a small, circular clearing the size of the Dursley's back garden. Assembled around a cauldron were four boys who looked like Sixth Years at least. Even in my horror, I could not miss the revere and respect they held towards me. It was familiar, too familiar. I shuddered at the thought of it but it was the same way many of my classmates usually looked at me. Tom's words last year passed through me like a blast of icy wind.

_We are not so different…_

"The potion's ready," said a weedy-looking boy with cropped hair.

"Excellent. You've done well, Nott. What about a victim? Mulciber?" The thick-necked boy beside Nott started and dragged a woman from behind a tree. She was alive.

"The stunning charm wore off so I just silenced and bound her," he said huskily.

"Where did you get her from?" I said sharply as I moved closer towards the woman.

"A little Muggle town near Hogsmeade. It was easy," he replied with a hint of pride that sickened me. Mulciber released the woman and she collapsed, shaking uncontrollably. An little old woman with greying hair, she had a stern sort of face, one which I expected to see on a school teacher.

"Welcome, Muggle," I said softly. She tried to scream but no sound came from her mouth. I tried with all my might to control Voldemort's body – to possess him, in essence, but all it did was cause my mind to spin further. "You're quite lucky, you know, to be here when I make history. Where I write my name into the history books. I will push magic further than before, open up doors none knew existed and change the definition of impossible. Greatness, in a word. Those pathetic_Knights_ –" He spat the word out as if it had offended him "– could never hope to understand… Dolohov, is the potion ready yet?"

"Y-yes," murmured Dolohov, a short, stout boy with pale skin. "The book says a vial is enough but you've got to…"

"…say both incantations within seconds of drinking it, I know." I turned from the woman and took the proffered vial. I stared at its murky grey depths. Returning my gaze was a handsome boy with dark eyes and jet black hair. A boy who lifted the vial to his lips and drained the potion without a second thought.

I ignored the bitter taste and drew my wand. Yew, thirteen and a half inches, phoenix feather. I had no idea what was going on, no idea of what I was to witness, no idea that my innocence would be robbed, no idea that the puzzling dreams I've had since I was a baby were finally going to make sense. I merely watched helplessly as the brother of my wand turned on the poor, old woman. She began screaming again. She may not have known what the piece of wood pointing at her did but she could certainly see the glint in my eyes. The eyes of a killer.

From my pocket I removed a diary I had not noticed until now. It was black and rather battered. I placed it very carefully on the ground between myself and the woman and took three steps back.

I wished I did not have to look at the woman. Her blue eyes were swimming with tears and silently pleading. I wish I could have done something, anything, to help her. _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_

A jet of green light left my wand. The same jet of green light which keeps illuminating the house in my dreams. The same jet of green light which killed mum.

The old woman collapsed and lay lifelessly on the ground. I stared down at her in horror; I could not believe what I had done. I had no time to linger on the monstrosity I – no, Riddle – had performed. Closing my eyes, I muttered something in an obscure language – it could have been Latin. The rest of the forest seemed to darken and the diary began to reverberate.

A searing pain suddenly hit me. It was as if the very fabric of my being was being torn to shreds. My bones screamed, my skin screeched and my heart seemed to burn. Why was I doing this to myself? From the corner of my eye, I noticed the diary levitating and a dark, ghostly wisp of smoke, thin and winding like a snake, floating towards it. I noticed the other boys cowering in fear and the contents of the cauldron spilled its contents over the thin soil.

I screamed until my voice was hoarse. The smoke lingered above the diary which itself was trembling more and more violently. My anguish refused to alleviate. I wished I could die then; my life seemed a fair price to pay if it meant the pain would leave. I tried to remind myself that this was not me, that it was not I who was experiencing the pain, but it was of no use. It was far too real.

As I felt myself slipping out of consciousness, the diary and the wisp of smoke bonded with an almighty explosion which sent ripples through the ground and through me. I was shaken like a rag doll, mouth open but no sound escaping.

Then in an instant it was over.

The pain. The vibration. The light. The smoke. All gone. The diary hung in the air for another split second before dropping with a faint thud. I felt the corners of my mouth twitch weakly. I did not care that I had murdered a defenceless Muggle. I did not care that my friends were unconscious, maybe even dead. I did not even care that the warmth had left my skin, never to return.

"I've done it," I said in a faint whisper, "I've made a horcrux."

And as the darkness engulfed me, that was all I cared for.

I woke up drenched with sweat, shivering as if it was the middle of winter, not the night after one of the hottest days on record. To make matters worse, I found myself in the podgy arms of an enraged bull. No, it was Uncle Vernon. But from the deep shade of purple his face had turned to, I was probably better off with the bull.

"Nice to see you too," I breathed as I tried to wriggle out of his vice-like grip. I glanced past his enormous body only to encounter my whale of a cousin, Dudley, pale faced and wide-eyed, rooted to the spot. Petunia was at the door, her lips thinner than I had ever seen them, glaring in the same way she did whenever I did magic. It was then that I knew something was terribly wrong. "Almost, but my birthday was last week." I don't know what made me say it, but the instant satisfaction was overshadowed by the sting of Uncle Vernon's fingers digging deeper into my skinny arms.

"I_won't_, Petunia," hissed Uncle Vernon, dousing my face with spit, "I won't have him here anymore. I won't!" I wished he would let go of me so I could wipe my face. Despite addressing Aunt Petunia, he felt it necessary to keep his gaze fixed on me.

"You know I'd get rid of him if I could," whispered Aunt Petunia. Her small, keen eyes darted down the corridor. "And keep your voice down, Marge is still asleep!"

"A miracle, considering he's destroyed our house!" said Uncle Vernon angrily. Another layer of spit joined the first. I decided not to open my mouth for fear of the salivary repercussions.

"W-What happened to my windows?" asked Dudley, mocking fear. "Was it him? Was it the M word?" Dudley knew perfectly well what was going on; he was putting on this act to make matters worse. I glanced at my window and indeed they had shattered, as if an earthquake had hit them. Glass littered the floor around the windowsill.

"Yes, Dudders, he smashed all the bloody windows in the house!" exclaimed Uncle Vernon, who felt the need to shake me some more.

"What if he kills me, daddy?" simpered Dudley. "I'm scared." He edged towards Aunt Petunia who embraced him, though it was difficult to see her now that Dudley had engulfed her.

"Don't worry, Dinky-Dums, mummy and daddy will never let him do that," she cooed.

"Dudley's right, Petunia. He's a danger to us all! If he thinks I'm signing that stupid slip of paper, he's got another thing coming! He's just like that failure of a father of his!" roared my Uncle.

"What did you say?" I said coolly, tendering a hint of anger. The scene would have been comical if not for the circumstances. It was the middle of the night; most of the occupants of Number Four, Privet Drive were cramped into the smallest bedroom in their pyjamas and to make matters worse there was a ravenous dog in the room opposite that could wake up at any moment along with his mistress.

"You heard me! Your parents were the scum of society and so are you! Heaven knows why I've let you stay this far!" The more he spoke, the angrier I became. "Your owl treating our house like dirt, puddings exploding, Dudley's tail, incidents whenever we leave the house with you and that flying Ford Anglia! You're history! GET OU- AARGH!"

Finally, I snapped. Uncle Vernon suddenly released me as if he had been burnt. Before he could contemplate the cause, he was thrown out of the pane-less window like a rag-doll. He seemed to hover in mid-air for a split second, his furious face suddenly registering fear. Then he fell out of sight, his screams of terror losing volume as he did so.

Aunt Petunia screamed and Dudley stared, enormous jaw hanging. "You'll pay for this, boy!" she screeched as she ran towards the window. "You wait and see!"

"I'm not going to wait and see," I said quietly. "He wants me to leave? Fine, I'll leave!" I was so angry now that I refused to think. I grabbed my wand and my things began to pack themselves so quickly I almost thought they could feel my ire. Why hadn't I done this earlier?

"YOU'RE NOT LEAVING UNTIL YOU FIX THIS!" screamed Aunt Petunia hysterically. My blood ran cold as barking resonated down the corridor. Ripper. And when there was Ripper, there was always…

"What's going here, Petunia?" yelped Marge, who was standing in the doorway in pink pyjamas, podgy hands on her hips. Aunt Petunia tore her gaze from out of the window and eyed Marge fearfully. I knew she would rather die than tell her sister-in-law the truth.

Marge looked from me to the packed suitcase to the wand gripped firmly in my hand. I was tempted to hurt her then. I had the upper hand. A part of me awoke and wished to see her scream and writhe in agony for her mistreatment of me during my childhood. The thought was so enticing, so very tempting.

"What has he done, Petunia? Has he hurt my Dudley? Why aren't there bars on his windows? Don't just stand there like a fish, dear, answer me!"

"He was t-trying to escape," murmured Aunt Petunia. Dudley was about to say something but one look from his mother kept him quiet.

"Is that so, eh?" said Marge, her eyes narrowed. "You know what you do with dogs who don't behave? You beat them." It would only take a few seconds, a few seconds of pain. She'd never bother me again. It's not wrong if she deserved it…

"Shut up!" I roared. I waved my wand wildly and Marge found herself hurtling across the corridor, crashing through a closed door and landing head first into the lavatory. There was a glint of something in Aunt Petunia's eyes. Perhaps relief? Dudley's reaction was far easier to read – he fainted, causing the whole floor to reverberate.

"I want you to know that I hate you," I said to Aunt Petunia coldly. "You're a terrible person." I took the opportunity of Aunt Petunia's speechlessness to storm out of the room with my trunk, which seemed exceedingly light and far smaller than usual.

I only made it down the stairs when I heard another bark. I glanced around and saw Ripper glaring at me, its enormous teeth bared. Why? Why did it hate me? I sprinted out of the door, my heart racing. I knew that there was no way I could outrun it and could not climb a tree this time – I was lugging all my worldly possessions with me. I reached the pavement. Ripper was already on the lawn. I looked frantically up and down the road, desperately searching for a way out. I was expecting more accidental magic. Then a pair of yellow eyes met mine from across the road.

In my hesitation, Ripper caught up. Before I could contemplate who the eyes belonged to, the dog pounced and knocked me to the ground. The trunk slipped out of my hand and skidded down the kerb, my wand went with it.

The dog's paws were on my chest. I could feel its hot, sticky breath a while after the stench. It leered at me with its bloodshot eyes. I thought that this was it. I thought it was over.

Just as Ripper opened its muscular jaw and I closed my eyes in fear, its weight suddenly disappeared off my chest.

I opened my eyes, not daring to believe it. A bear-like black dog with a shaggy coat had pounced on Ripper and had bitten its neck. Not being as dim as its master, Ripper drew away with a whimper and bounded for the house, leaping over Uncle Vernon's unconscious form, spilling blood over it.

I collapsed in relief. Only now did I realise how wet and clammy my hands were or the fact that my knees were shivering as if there were a brisk November wind. I awkwardly hoisted myself from the unflattering position I was caught in and searched for my saviour.

"Get back here and fix what you've done, boy!" hissed Aunt Petunia from the patio. She hastily looked up and down the road, hoping nobody was watching the events unfold. Some things never change.

I caught some movement out of the corner of my eye and saw the huge shaggy dog turn at the end of Privet Drive. I glanced at my Aunt, there was never any doubt. I turned away from her.

I tried to lift my trunk as before but found it had returned to its true weight. Forced to make another split-second decision, I extracted my precious invisibility cloak and left the trunk behind, lying in the shadow of the destruction one dream had caused.

Throwing the cloak around me, ignoring the threats from Aunt Petunia, I went in pursuit of the mysterious dog. I did not know why I was doing this, it was instinct mingled with a sizeable helping of curiosity. A rustle told me the dog had dived into the bushes across the road from the small park. It was heading into familiar territory.

The Jungle. The plant life gave it its name. Unkempt and dishevelled, the shrubbery was allowed to grow without a leash and lay in stark contrast to the quiet streets surrounding it. Every person stayed away from it, even the smokers Dudley looked up to. Almost every person. Since finding it in my first year of primary school (hiding from Dudley), I had used it as a retreat when the Dursleys were being unbearable.

The road was silent, the smell of a barbecue from the previous day lingering in the air. My footfalls seemed to carry for miles and a thought struck me like an icy arrow. The Ministry would be after me. I had seriously injured both my Uncle and his sister as well as causing property damage. They probably knew already. I looked up as if expecting an owl to swoop down with an official letter but none came. I quickened my pace. The hairs at the back of my neck stood on end. Blinded by guilt, I thought it was because of the prospect of being expelled from Hogwarts.

I climbed through a small hole in the wired fence and parted the bushes. There was no dog. Instead stood the lean and haggard figure of a man. He must have heard my footsteps because he had his wand drawn and was looking around wildly. I knew I was going to be expelled already and had nothing to lose so I said, "_Expelliarmus!"_ The man was thrown back onto the undergrowth where a pale ray of moonlight illuminated his face. A mass of filthy, matted hair hung about his elbows. If his eyes hadn't been shining out of the deep, dark sockets, he might have been a corpse. The waxy skin was stretched so tightly over the bones of his face, it looked like a skull. I gasped. It was the man the police were frantically searching for. Sirius Black. He was a wizard?

"Very good, Harry," he growled huskily, "I'd have expected no less."

I decided to remove my cloak then but my heart was pounding terribly. How did this man, Sirius Black, know my name? Why had he not killed me already? Was the dog leading me to him? Curiously, Black looked at me with pain and longing. A chill ran down my spine. There was no anger in his eyes, only sorrow.

"H-How do you know my name?" I said, trying to sound as though I was in charge of the situation. I knew as it escaped my lips that it was a stupid question. To my surprise, Black released a dog-like laugh.

"Apart from your fame, you mean?" he said. "I knew your parents. Merlin, you've grown so tall…just like James, so much like James."

My guard wavered. "Y-You knew my father?" I asked quietly.

"Knew him? We were nothing short of brothers!" said Black. His face cracked into a genuine smile, his rotting teeth on show, and he scrambled up to his feet quickly. Too quickly. I tightened my grip on my wand until my knuckles were white and a few warning sparks danced around the end of it.

"You're lying!" I hissed. A flash of something crossed his dark eyes. I couldn't place it.

Here was a man who I knew was a murderer. He had tricked me into following his dog. My mind was swimming with other worries and it was reaching a point of saturation. Besides, I had given Riddle the benefit of the doubt last year and look where that got me.

"I wish I were lying," said Black wistfully.

"Why would a good person like my dad have a murderer as a friend?" I said hotly. "You're sick." He looked as if he had been slapped. What little colour he had in his ghostly face had left it.

"Harry, I'm your godfather. I was your father's best man. I suggested the name Harry to your parents."

"I don't believe you," I said, but my resolution was wavering. "And why should I, you're a convicted criminal."

"If I wanted to kill you," said Black, sensing his advantage, "I would have done it by now."

I lowered my wand.

As I was about to utter my next words, the bushes rustled softly. I would have thought it was a breeze if a shadow had not obstructed the moonlight. An exceptionally unexceptional man, tall black with cropped hair, cold dark eyes and a smattering of stubble covering his chin had caused the noise. He wore a sleeveless black shirt and a pair of faded jeans. My attention, however, was drawn towards his only distinctive feature – a tattoo on his muscled bicep. It was a skull of the darkest grey. Its mouth hung open and two weapons I recognized as spears had been pierced through it, their tips laden with a dark substance. The heads of the weapons peeked out of the two dark eye sockets. There was something strangely fascinating and grotesque about the thing. He bore his cool gaze into me, his eyes flicking up to my scar. He seemed vaguely familiar. I felt like I should know who he was. From the corner of my eye I spotted Sirius, too, staring at the tattoo, though his face had mingled into that of abject horror.

"I am Special Officer Arnold Smith from the Knights and am here to ask you some routine questions," he said. His voice was hard and toneless and his eyes bore into me. "Are you Harry James Potter of Number Four, Privet Drive?"

"T-This can't be," said Sirius distantly. He stared from the tattoo on the man's bicep to his face. "Y-You're dead. I saw you fall. Unless…"

"Y-Yes, I'm Harry," I said. I shuddered slightly, partly because his eyes never left mine and partly because I got the same feeling of being completely transparent as I did whenever Dumbledore looked at me.

"Don't meet his eyes, Harry!" gasped Sirius. "Give me my wand! Don't believe a word he says, he's a liar and a traitor!" The man quickly glanced at Sirius and, aside from a slight narrowing of his eyes; he seemed completely unsurprised by him.

"And is this Sirius Orion Black, recent escapee from Azkaban Prison?"

I was about to answer yes but changed my mind. How on earth did he find us in such an obscure location? Who was he and what were the Knights?

"Who sent you?" demanded Sirius. "The tattered remains of your pathetic gang or Voldemort himself?" I registered that Sirius was one of the few people who used Voldemort's real name.

"The information required has already been confirmed," said the Officer flatly, as if this answered Sirius' question. "Execution of objective two will commence accordingly." He drew a small, black gun with a silencer attached.

My eyes widened. He turned first to Sirius. He had some idea of what it did judging from the look of alarm on his gaunt features. Suddenly, he was no longer there, replaced by the huge dog, who bared his teeth and pounced on the man.

It seemed to happen in a split second and a blur of movement.

There was a single muffled gunshot.

The dog, who was in mid-leap, transformed back into Sirius and fell like a rag-doll onto a heap of dead leaves.

"NO!" I yelled, and collapsed to the floor beside my dead godfather. Heart pounding painfully in my chest, I turned him over to face me.

A silver bullet had impaled itself between his eyes. He was dead.

I stood to my feet holding the wands, fury coursing through me like molten lava.

The Officer was looking at me, his eyes dead of emotion. The gun was gone and a wand replaced it. Before a spell could even formulate on my lips, he said, "_Obliviate_!"

The spell hit me squarely in the chest. I felt the wind knock out of me and I stumbled to my knees. My eyes refused to open but I saw a delirious white light.

I saw the movement of a boy about my age. It was too blurry to distinguish. My head spun and I heard some words which sounded jumbled, like a broken tape. The boy moved quickly as if he were in a film I was fast-forwarding. He moved faster and faster and the white light grew stronger and stronger, threatening to consume him. There was a soft 'pop'.

It was over as soon as it began and I knew no more.

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**AN:**I will try not the plague the ends of chapters with notes, but I thought I'd say a word on Sirius' death. He is a favourite character of many, myself included, but his death was absolutely integral to the plot as you'll see in later chapters. On another note, I will endeavour to put updates on chapter progress up on my profile page, which has been rather barren for a while now.

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	2. A Dish Best Served Cold

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine.

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– **CHAPTER TWO** **–**

**A Dish Best Served Cold**

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The dimly lit rays pouring into my room and the excited squeals of children woke me. I instantly noticed the hard iron bedstead, felt the coarse grey blanket rubbing against my thigh and smelt the distinct odour of freshly cooked porridge. I was occupying Tom Riddle's body in a memory akin to the one in Riddle's diary last year. Except I was not at Hogwarts. Was this the Muggle Orphanage Riddle had complained about? 

As I – no, Tom – stretched, I concentrated on finding a mirror in order to discern Tom's age. I found none. Instead, there was an old wardrobe at the other side of the iron bedstead, equally shabby but spotlessly clean. The rest of the room was bare with a coating of paint a colour matching the aroma which, by now, had grown fainter.

Tom headed purposefully towards the door. There was stifled giggling coming from the corridor. Before he could even furrow his brow in suspicion, his right foot slipped out from under him and he collapsed to the floor, his head banging against the leg of the bed with a resonating thud.

Tom's reaction was immediately that of anger. Clutching his head, his narrowed eyes flitted around the room for a culprit. They landed on a plank of wood resting on two rolls of tissue paper. I found it quite amusing. Tom did not.

He gritted his teeth and trembled with fury. The wardrobe door opened and slammed shut of its own accord with such force I was surprised it was not blown off its hinges. The wood and tissues rose, as if carried by an invisible wind, and was encompassed by a dome of crackling flames. I was stunned at the power and complexity of the 'accidental' magic – I certainly would have struggled to do the same with my wand.

Taking a few deep breaths, he opened the door. An iron bucket carrying arctic cold water upturned its contents onto his head. He kept himself from screaming as the water trickled down his torso like icy fingers fresh from a winter's day.

He could not see because of the bucket, his head felt as if it would explode from pain and he was drenched.

I no longer found it amusing.

With cold ire coursing through his veins, Tom choked back tears and placed the bucket just outside the door. Rather than change his clothes or even consider ratting on the bullies to the staff at the orphanage, he marched up the dimly-lit corridor. The hideous purple wallpaper had mostly peeled to reveal an equally grotesque grey. Despite the shabby appearance of the walls and partly unhinged wooden doors, there was practically no mess. The only open door was one beside a curved stone staircase.

As Tom entered it, I saw that it was only slightly larger than Tom's but had a large, arched window on one wall. The faded blue carpet was littered with small toys such as a rocking horse with so many dents and chippings, it looked more like a rocking duck.

Sitting around a decrepit bed were seven children; five boys and two girls who all looked as though they were approaching the age for entrance into Hogwarts. As Tom entered, his hole-filled socks squelching with every step, the babbling and giggling died down. They all stared at Tom with their mouths hung slightly ajar. One of the boys with curly ginger locks and an explosion of angry freckles across his face bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

"W-What 'appened, Tom?" asked a girl with blonde hair parted into two pigtails. Her large, circular glasses had slipped to the end of her nose as she squinted up at him.

"Who did this?" said Tom, his voice barely above a whisper. His body was trembling from the cold.

A boy with a pug-like nose and exceptionally round cheeks shrugged. "Most of us only just woke up. You can ask anyone, I just came up from breakfast."

Tom's ability to extract selfish fear did not go unnoticed by both he and I. He pressed his advantage and said, "Who did it, then?"

The boy with the pug-like nose looked around fearfully, almost begging one of the others to save him. "No-one 'ere," he mumbled, his eyes fixed on one of the many wooden spinning tops strewn at the foot of the bed.

"Tell the truth!" said Tom with such force that both I and the children were taken aback.

"Honest to God Almighty, I dunno," said the girl with the pigtails. Tom's eyes narrowed for a split second.

"Was it Dennis?" Tom asked coolly. The children were decidedly silent. "I said, _was it Dennis!_"

They seemed to jump as one. "We dunno!" exclaimed the boy with curly ginger hair. "Cross our 'earts and 'ope to die, stick a needle in our eyes! Why don't you ask 'im yerself?"

The poor boy looked as though he regretted his words seconds after uttering them. "What did you say?" whispered Tom dangerously.

"N-nothin'," stuttered the boy, "i-it was just an idea."

Luckily, the trembling boy was rescued by two other children who almost skipped in, laughing and talking loudly. One was a tall and thin boy with jet black hair parted over to one side. The other was a short girl with sandy hair tied in a bun, wearing the same grey apron the other children had on. They took one look at Tom and burst into a fit of renewed giggles. The only children could only stare on enviously.

"So you did this, Dennis?" said Tom through gritted teeth. "And you too, Amy?"

By this time, Dennis was on all fours, his fist pounding against the floor and Amy was clutching the doorway for support. The boy with the pug-like nose began to laugh nervously but was silenced by the look on Tom's face. I could only look on with intrigue.

Tom closed his eyes for a moment and took deep breaths to try and calm down but to no avail. I gasped – I could feel his burning hot anger. As if by magic, Amy and Dennis' hysterical laughter became screams of pain. Amy was clutching her stomach as if she had been shot and Dennis held his head in his arms.

"I asked you a question," said Tom. "Did you do it?"

Amy nodded her head feverishly as tears streaked down her face. Dennis cried, "it was only a little joke, we didn't mean nothin' by it, honest!"

"Not so funny now–" Tom halted in mid-sentence and the pranksters stopped screaming, the only remnant of their pain the tears still flowing thick and fast down her pale cheeks. The reason behind Tom's change of heart soon became apparent.

A skinny, harassed-looking woman stood in the corridor, her hands on her hips. She had a sharp-featured face that appeared more anxious than unkind. Behind her stood a very young woman with a howling baby in her arms.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cole," said Tom, feigning brightness.

"What on earth is the infernal racket up here?" she demanded, scanning the room suspiciously as if half expecting the old rocking horse to recount the events it had witnessed with its only remaining eye.

"What should I do about this baby?" yelled the young maid over the screaming.

"Rock him gently to sleep after giving him a bottle of warm milk," replied Mrs. Cole distractedly. "I swear I heard some screaming in here, and why are you crying again, girl?" Her eyes flitted from Amy to Tom, as if she had a strong inclination as to what had transpired but had no way of proving it.

"I…uh…tripped over the 'orse, ma'am," sobbed Amy.

"Right," said Mrs. Cole disbelievingly, "then stop being so darned clumsy. It's no way for a young woman to behave. And what did you do, jump in the Thames?"

"I slipped in the toilet and fell into the bath, ma'am," said Tom earnestly.

"Quite a lot of slipping and tripping going on here, don't you think?" she said knowingly. "Well don't just stand there and gape gormlessly, you'll get pneumonia, child! Come with me to your room. And stop crying girl, you're almost old enough to apprentice as a nurse!"

When Mrs. Cole turned her back, Tom shot Amy and Dennis a contemptuous glare which clearly said he was not finished with them.

Mrs. Cole led him back into his bedroom and found him fresh clothes: brown shorts and a white, short-sleeved shirt, a welcome change to the usual grey uniform. She also managed to find him a towel with a few holes gnawed into it. "Are you sure Amy tripped over that horse?" she said, finally.

Tom nodded. "I swear she did. Heaven strike me down if she didn't." Mrs. Cole's lips thinned but she did not press the topic and scurried away at the sound of more crying.

Tom changed quickly and made his way down the spiral stone staircase to the first floor landing; this comprised solely of one door, leading into the kitchen. The sweet aroma of pancakes wafted into Tom's nostrils as he swung open the door. On one side of the room were two stoves, manned by a frantically sweating old woman, wearing a hair-net and an apron covered with so many stains it was impossible to work out its original colour. A mountain of dirty pots and pans beside the sink was slowly being worked through by two sulky children, neither older than eight years old.

On the other side of the room was a long table, able to seat about a dozen children, with two teenagers making their way through a small stack of pancakes serenaded with what looked like honey. Tom sat a few chairs down from them. They did not acknowledge him and he returned the favour.

A quarter of an hour and many pancakes later, Mrs. Cole popped her head around the door and said, "Get yourselves changed; the coaches are coming in half an hour." She turned to the two adolescents. "John, you're in charge of getting all the boys ready, Edith, you're in charge of the girls. You'll get a hiding if they ain't all lined up looking presentable by the time the coaches come. Tom, you can help John as you're already changed."

A very laborious half an hour passed where Tom had to chase half-dressed, hyper-active toddlers around the building but between them, they managed to round up all the children going to Southend and have them standing on the ground floor, the only thing restraining their excitement the threat of a beating ("And you'll stay home with the babies," Mrs. Cole had warned them). I noticed Dennis and Amy had steered far clear of Tom.

It was only when Mrs. Cole took a final headcount, gave the thumbs up to one of her helpers and opened the door that the difference in time period hit me like a blow to the head. Past the bare courtyard and high iron railings were two weather-beaten horses an inch from their graves each harnessed to wooden carriages.

Most of the children, finally unable to suppress their delight, ran towards the iron railings, swung open the doors and practically jumped into either one of the carriages. There were only a dozen other children at the orphanage, most of whom were toddlers. It was no wonder Mrs. Cole never had a moment's peace.

Tom was last to get in, choosing not the carriage containing Mrs. Cole, who was barking out orders, but the one behind it with a panicky young helper in charge of it. He sat next to a five year-old boy with a shock of auburn hair, hopping up and down on his seat like an excitable rabbit.

Throughout the entirety of the lengthy, painstaking journey to Southend, Tom did not speak once. He instead chose instead to gaze out at the landscape. Smoggy, narrow, grey London streets became barren land waiting to be worked on. Barren land became farmland decorated with golds, greens and browns. Farmland became wild country with small, bumpy paths. Finally, the horses, exhausted, pulled into the sleepy village of Southend.

The sun was high in the sky, casting down its rays over the landscape. The air was crisp, fresh and so salty it was almost tangible. The village itself consisted of a bumpy road, a smattering of cottages within a mile radius and a small church which doubled as a school during the weekdays.

I soon found the children were not actually allowed anywhere near the beach, and, considering most of them were already screaming with delight and throwing dirt around, the result of doing so would have been disastrous. It was not a strain on the imagination to envisage one of the younger orphans drowning far out at sea; the one place where Mrs. Cole had no control. It seemed they had only come out on the day trip in order to escape the bleak monotony of London, experience the sea air and watch the waves attacking the cliff base in at the distance.

I felt a little sorry for Mrs. Cole; she single-handedly had to take care of ten restless children (her helper could not seem to act without exact instructions), none of whom had reached their sixth birthday. The result was that she was forced to relinquish control over the older children.

Duly, Tom strolled past the quiet cottages until he reached a high outcrop of dark rock, water forming and churning below him. Behind was a towering cliff, a sheer drop, black and faceless. A few chunks of rock, such as the one he was standing on, had broken away from the cliff face at some point in the past. Despite the sun, it was a bleak, harsh view without even a trace of vegetation to carpet the bare rock.

Tom suddenly, but very deliberately, turned around. Standing in the wake of his shadow were Amy and Dennis.

"Have you been following me?" Tom asked slowly.

Dennis started at being caught but quickly recovered his composure. "Well, we…er…just wanted to say sorry for earlier. It was only a little joke, nothin' more."

Tom smiled coolly. Encouraged, Amy piped, "Yeah, we didn't 'alf feel bad about it after. Where do you go every year, anyway? You always run off when Mrs. Cole lets us go."

Both she and Dennis looked at him hopefully. I fully expected Tom to tell them to mind their own business, or even continue to torture them with magic. He surprised me when he said, "do you want to see?" They nodded fervently and I spotted a mischievous glint in Dennis' eyes.

Tom ignored it and beckoned for them to follow him towards the edge of the rock. A treacherous descent lay below with a series of jagged niches which made footholds and led down to boulders that lay soaking wet from the high tide which had, thankfully, passed. I sincerely hoped Tom was not going to attempt to make his way down for it seemed nearly impossible, practically suicide. But there were no other alternatives. Dennis and Amy seemed to catch on.

"You're not thinkin' of going _down_ are you?" gasped Amy, her sandy bun of hair quivering.

"Why not?" asked Tom quickly.

"'Cos you'll probably fall and die and then what'll Mrs. Cole say?" cried Amy. Dennis was staring into the depths of the glistening water, his pallid face slowly turning a sickly shade of green.

"You're not _scared_ are you?" said Tom sardonically. "I knew it! You're both chicken! Wait 'til the others hear about this…"

Dennis pursed his lips defiantly; he looked as if he would throw up if he spoke a word. "What? Chicken? No, 'course not! We're just scared you won't be able to 'ack it ain't we, Den?" He nodded ardently.

"Let's go then," said Tom enthusiastically. "I'll go first, but make sure Dennis isn't sick all over me."

Tom descended quickly and efficiently at first but once the lower, slippery rocks were reached, he slowed down. I had the distinct feeling the descent was nigh on impossible without magic. There were flecks of cold salt spray hitting his face as he reached the boulder closest to the cliff face.

He looked up when his body was stable and was satisfied to see Amy struggling to make the next step downwards and Dennis just above her holding on for dear life.

"My fingers are slipping!" he shouted.

Indeed, a split second later, Dennis relinquished his grasp and began falling towards a bed of jagged rocks with waves caressing them. He brushed past Amy and began to fall too. I cried out in alarm, but of course it made no difference.

Luckily, Tom realised that murder was not a just punishment and their fall veered towards the large boulder Tom was standing on. Instead of accelerating, they slowed down the smaller the gap was between them and the boulder became until they landed, quite safely, on their feet.

Amy still had her eyes screwed tight and was screaming and crying. Dennis' mouth was moving quickly, as if muttering a prayer. He was the first to recover and stammered, "I-I'm n-not d-dead?"

"No, you big baby," said Tom curtly, "you only took a little tumble."

"L-little tumble? Little tumble! We were flyin' through the air." Dennis turned his head up, as if measuring the distance.

"Then why ain't you dead?" said Tom. "And if you don't stop crying, Amy, Mrs. Cole's gonna find us and give us all a hiding and extra chores." This seemed enough encouragement to dissipate her howling into silent sobs.

"I-I don't get it…" said Dennis, almost to himself.

"C'mon, we're not done yet," said Tom forcefully. "You don't mind getting a bit wet do you?" Amy's mouth hung open and Dennis looked positively terrified.

"You mean we're not done yet?" asked Dennis.

"No, this dumb boulder's hardly a good hiding place is it? You're not gonna give up on me already, are you? It's alright; I know it's been a bit scary so far." This once again had the effect of the strengthening the resolve of both of Tom's poor victims.

"Where's your 'iding place then?"

"You see the hole in the cliff under us?" Tom said, pointing to a fissure in the cliff into which dark water was flowing. "We're going in there. Unless you're scared of a bit of water?" With a small smile, Tom slid from the boulder with incredible guile and landed in the sea. The icy water came up to his knees and instantly waterlogged his shoes.

Tom waded through the water towards the slit in the rock face. Two splashes behind told him Dennis and Amy were in hot pursuit. The fissure soon opened into a dark tunnel that I could tell would be filled with water at high tide. The slimy walls were barely three feet apart and glimmering like wet tar in the faint light from the opening far behind. A little way in, the passageway curved to the left and I saw it extended far into the cliff. Tom continued to push his way through the water until, finally, he reached some steps which led into a large cave.

The air here was still and freezing. "Are we finished 'ere?" Tom turned his head to find Dennis and Amy shivering silently. Dennis' trousers were soaked knee down and his grey top was smattered with grey flecks of water, Amy was looking no better, her dress was dripping like an umbrella in a rainstorm.

"No, just a little further," said Tom. Both Amy and Dennis groaned as Tom stepped into what seemed total darkness.

An eerie sight met Tom: he was standing on the edge of a great black lake, so vast it was impossible to make out the distant banks, the cavern so high that the ceiling, too, was out of sight. A misty greenish light shone far away in what looked like the middle of the lake; it reflected the completely still water below. The greenish glow was the only thing that broke the otherwise velvety blackness, though its rays did not penetrate as far as I would have expected. The darkness was somehow denser than normal darkness.

"Follow me," said Tom quietly, after hearing a gasp from behind him.

"'ow d-did you find this place?" asked Amy.

"I was exploring a few years ago and fell off that boulder. It all went from there." Tom set off around the edge of the lake, and the two friends followed closely behind him. Their footsteps made echoing, slapping sounds on the narrow rim of rock that surrounded the water. On and on they walked but the view did not vary: on one side of them, the rough cavern wall; on the other, the boundless expanse of smooth, glassy blackness. I found the place and the silence oppressive, unnerving, but Tom seemed to bask in it.

"_Awake,"_ Tom hissed suddenly. With a noise like an explosion, something very large and pale erupted out of the dark water some twenty feet away; before I could see what it was, it had vanished again with a crashing splash that made great, deep ripples on the mirrored surface. I cried out in surprise, and then remembered it was futile – this was a memory. Dennis, however, leapt backwards in shock and hit the wall. Amy seemed frozen in horror.

There was a deadly silence.

"_Show yourself,"_ Tom hissed, with such authority I was taken aback. _"Don't hurt them!"_

A lone ripple dispersed from near the centre of the pool, as if someone had cast a stone into its depths. Then nothing.

"W-what was that?" stammered Dennis. Tom did not reply.

A shadow pierced the green glow near the middle of the lake for a split second. "I said what was that!" cried Dennis hysterically. Tom did not reply.

The same shadow appeared, this time closer to the three children. Tiny ripples disturbed the lake's mirrored surface.

"D-Dennis," stuttered Amy, her voice oddly high, "l-let's go." She edged away from Tom slowly, as if afraid he would attack her. He did not react however; his eyes were fixed on the centre of the lake.

There was a scream and a splash. Large ripples disturbed the water.

"AMY!"

Tom finally wrenched his eyes from the centre of the lake. Amy had seemingly slipped into the lake. Her floundering arms were slowly disappearing from sight as if the water had draped its icy arms around her ankles and pulled her in.

"AMY! 'OLD ON! I'M COMIN' IN!" Dennis jumped in after her blindly, casting an almighty wall of spray in all directions. Tom looked down at his white shirt where some of the water had landed. I screamed at him to help the drowning girl but it was of no use.

Her head was no longer visible.

Dennis inexpertly kicked with all his might, desperately trying to reach the point where she had disappeared. He took a great gasp of breath and dived into the mirrored surface. Tom merely looked on passively.

A moment passed before Dennis' dark hair penetrated the surface. I sighed in relief; he was struggling with Amy's limp form in his arms, his dark, wet hair plastered to his forehead.

"Tom!" he gasped. "Tom, please." His eyes were screwed tightly and he kicked out with all his might. He was not strong enough. He was struggling to keep her head above the water.

"Tom! P-Please! I-I can't!"

I prayed Tom would do something. For the first time, he seemed worried they might die and for that I was glad. But would he do anything?

The shadow was now no more than a yard away from the drowning children. Tom noticed this and glanced at Amy's limp form. Just as her chin stroked the dark surface of the water, she burst into a fit of coughs, her eyes suddenly open. She took in her surroundings, her breathing becoming heavier and heaver.

"_Wait until they are out of the water,"_ Tom hissed autocratically.

"Kick!" grunted Dennis, noticing that she was awake.

"I-I can't s-swim!" she said quietly.

"D-Don't worry," rasped Dennis. "Just kick as 'ard as you can!" He glanced up at Tom not with hatred, but terror. "Tom! Please!"

Gradually, they began moving, slow at first but as they started kicking in time, they made real progress until, finally, Dennis pushed Amy out of the water selflessly. She in turn held her hand out and helped him onto the narrow bank where they collapsed.

"_Now!"_ hissed Tom.

The shadow grew as it moved closer and closer to the lake's surface. A horrific sight curdled my blood. A horse's head appeared from the surface, its mane sodden and auburn. Etched where its ears should have been were blood-shot gills. Before I could even comprehend the absurdity of the situation, it rose further. At first, I merely thought its bark-like neck was rather long but it did not seem to end. Then it all made sense. The parseltongue, its obedience of Tom. This was no horse – it was a sea serpent.

Dennis and Amy clambered to their feet, every inch of them sodden, and held onto each other for support. Dennis edged away from the snake and towards the cave entrance, taking Amy with him. The sea serpent emitted a shrill neigh which rumbled the very ground underneath their feet. The echo against the cavern wall seemed to last an age.

Tom's poor victims broke out into a full out sprint. Tom smiled as the velvety blackness coiled around and consumed them, their screams still echoing through the still air. He knew they would not tell a soul. Who would believe them?

Revenge was sweet.

The cave blurred and faded into light.

I tried to make something out in the light. I hoped this was not another of Tom Riddle's memories, I had seen enough to last me a lifetime. The bed was familiar – incredibly soft and comfortable with a heated pillow. I felt around the bed blindly with my hand; there was no iron.

I awoke fully and cast my eye around the room. I breathed a sigh of relief, everything was a blur. I fumbled around for my glasses and found them on the bedside table. Now I could see beds separated by curtains, groaning from someone two beds down and a room filled with medical supplies a stone throw away – this was the hospital wing.

On the bedside table was a mountain of get-well cards and half-eaten chocolates. How long was I out? I picked up the card nearest to me and glanced at it.

_Dear __Harry, _

_You better get well soon! The first match of the season is against Slytherin and we'll be hopeless without you. Wood is already pulling his hair out over it._

_Love, _

_Katie._

I frowned. Term had already started? That must mean I have been out for at least a week. Shuddering at the thought, I put the card down and wiggled my feet around. They seemed to work fine. I swivelled around on the bed and lay one foot on the cold, hard floor. I shivered as a chill ran up my leg. Despite the cool respite, it seemed to handle weight perfectly. I tried my other foot. Again, fine.

I stood up gingerly. I was a little wobbly due to lack of practise but I managed it. A disquieting thought came to the forefront of my mind; why was I here? What had I done to myself? I tried to think back but all I remember was having a bad dream at the Dursleys then running out of the house. Then, of course, Tom's revenge.

Was I run over by a car? No, there were never any cars on Privet Drive at that time of night. My thoughts were interrupted by the angry orders of Madame Pomfrey.

"Potter! What on earth do you think you're doing? You need bed rest, lie back down! Merlin knows you've been in a coma long enough and I've only just managed to get rid of those stubborn friends of yours."

"What's the date today?" I asked. My voice was extremely hoarse, barely above a whisper. I could not help but smile at the thought of Madam Pomfrey trying to get rid of Ron and Hermione.

"It's the seventh of September. Here, drink this up!" She proffered a vial of red liquid I knew to be pepper-up potion.

"But it has side effects of long-term magical energy loss and, in some cases, mental instability through overdose." The words slipped out of my mouth and I had no idea where they had come from. Pomfrey looked as though she had been hit by a bolt of lightning, her mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

"H-how on earth? That's not on the Hogwarts syllabus–"

"Professor Snape has indicated he insists on teaching it to his Seventh years when last I spoke with him." Both I and Madame Pomfrey turned to the door, where Dumbledore stood, wearing a robe of rich purple adorned with crescent moons.

"Headmaster!" said Pomfrey angrily. "You know he can't have any visitors now, he's only just woken up. Please, come back when he's ready." I wondered vaguely how Dumbledore had found out so quickly about my return to consciousness.

"I understand, dear Poppy, but I must insist on a few words with him. He has been through a traumatic experience and it is necessary to deliver some explanations. I will only take a few minutes of his time."

Pomfrey glared at him before leaving in a huff, muttering about irresponsible teachers. I smiled then turned my attention to Dumbledore. There was something slightly different about the way he was looking at me, as if he was deeply perturbed by something. Far from his warmth at the end of last year, he seemed almost wary of me, though his serene smile was fixed in place.

"Ah, the delights of the hospital wing," said Dumbledore, calmly moving his hand through the air like a host pointing out his most prized painting. "You, of course, are not a virgin to its walls and I'm afraid Madame Pomfrey may be growing weary of your presence." He smiled warmly.

"Why are you here?" I said coldly, far icier than I had ever intended. I quickly smiled at him to make up for my tone. Dumbledore's only reaction to my impudence was a slight eyebrow movement towards his white hairline.

"While you are quite wrong to imply I am not concerned about your health," said Dumbledore quietly, "there are some matters I wish to discuss with you. Matters concerning the night you fell unconscious."

"I was going to ask you, sir," I said softly, continuing to make up for my previous outburst. Dumbledore sat at the foot of the bed, betraying no emotion.

"I understand it might be difficult to retell, you witnessed some horrific acts of violence. Nevertheless, I must ask you to muster the courage you have been gifted with." For some reason this sentence angered me, but it passed quickly so I ignored it.

"I honestly don't know what happened, sir," I insisted. "I know I had a bad dream of some sort and I woke up screaming–"

"Screaming?" interrupted Dumbledore. "What were the contents of the dream and have any other dreams caused this same reaction?" He looked at me straight in the eyes with interest.

"I don't remember the dream," I lied, "and it's never happened before, no." For the first time in the conversation, Dumbledore seemed surprised. Had he realised I was lying?

"I imagine your screaming would wake your relatives," said Dumbledore knowingly.

"Yeah. They came into the room and started shouting at me. Aunt Marge said something bad about my parents and I lost my temper and-and-"

"It's quite alright, Harry," said Dumbledore understandingly. "Temper is a fragile object; a slight movement in the wrong direction could shatter it."

"After using some magic on Aunt Marge," I said, deliberately not mentioning my lust to torture her, "I ran out of the house. Her dog, Ripper, chased after me. It stopped for some reason and I blacked out. That's all I can remember." Dumbledore nodded slowly and stayed silent, as if waiting for me to say more.

"Err, that's all," I said a little louder.

"I think I can make some guesses as to what followed, but remember this is a theory, nothing more. I believe Ripper's sudden withdrawal was caused by a far greater threat. A bigger dog, perhaps. Yes, it is my belief that a hound of quite formidable stature threatened Ripper before running off. You followed this dog."

"How can I have-" I stopped in mid-sentence at Dumbledore's raised hand.

"Please allow me to finish my account, all will be explained in due course." I stayed silent, a little agitated at being ordered to stop talking. "You followed this dog into a little used, fenced off area. I'm afraid, Harry, you walked into a trap.

"The dog was not, indeed, a dog – it was a wizard, an illegal animagus. Do you know what an animagus is?" I nodded. Dumbledore's expression of surprise was there only for a split second before his tranquil persona returned once more.

"Hermione told me about them," I lied. "They're wizards who can turn into one animal form whenever they like."

"Quite right. The name of the illegal animagus was Sirius Black."

"You mean the Muggle serial killer?" I blurted out.

"No, I mean the serial killer of Muggles. Sirius Black was a wizard, one who managed to escape from Azkaban, the wizarding prison, using his hidden ability to change into animals. It is my belief that he attempted to murder you."

"What?" I exclaimed. "Why?"

Dumbledore looked at me sadly. "Sirius Black was one of Voldemort's most brutal followers. Perhaps he thought your murder would bring back his master, perhaps it was mere vengeance. What is certain is that he, like his master, did not succeed. The events following are a mystery."

"Wait a minute," I said, "you mean to say I was alone with a powerful Dark wizard and he didn't manage to kill me?" My mind was spinning, how could I not remember this?

"You are evidence of that at least. Black was found with a bullet in his head the next morning. A little known Ministry wizard was found dead beside him and an arm's length away was you, hit by a memory charm."

"There was _another_ wizard?" I said. "How on earth?"

"He was an Auror, Harry, a dark wizard catcher, one of the best. I believe he tracked Black successfully and decided to use Muggle methods to deal with him, methods he presumably learned from his Muggle father. Considering Black's level of magical expertise, it was a well-informed decision."

"How did he die, then?" I asked.

"That is the real mystery. There were a barrage of curses so advanced I doubt even Black knew them. However, Black may have learnt many things from his master. Suffice to say, it is a real conundrum."

"But I didn't die…"

"And that, my dear boy, is the biggest mystery of them all. I will ask you once more: do you remember anything?" Dumbledore stared at me unblinkingly.

"No," I said firmly.

"I believe you, Harry." He placed a hand on my shoulder before standing up. "Do you have anything else you wish to tell me?"

"Yeah," I said, before I could stop myself. "Is it alright if I change my options?" Dumbledore blinked then smiled.

"I am sure it is not yet too late. What do you wish to change?"

"Can I change from Care of Magical Creatures and Divination to Arithmancy and Ancient Runes?" I was unsure why I was doing this, but it felt like the right thing to do. Dumbledore nodded in approval.

"I do not see why not – they are wise choices. I shall tell Professor McGonagall. Now I shall take my leave before I become the third fatality at the hands of an angry healer. I hope you recover in time for Gryffindor's anticipated match against Slytherin."

"Thanks," I muttered distantly. What had happened? How could they have killed each other so finally without involving me? How did Black kill the Auror when he'd been shot in the head? So much of the story did not make sense and for the first time in my two years at Hogwarts, I felt as though I had not been told the whole truth by Dumbledore. There was something missing.

I spent two long, monotonous days in the hospital wing. Word had yet to go round about my return to consciousness, it seemed, and in any case, Madame refused to let anyone visit me – except Ron and Hermione before Breakfast and after Dinner. We put our heads together and tried to work out what had happened but none of us could come with anything beyond what Dumbledore had told me.

I appreciated the cards and the occasional gift from the other Gryffindors who weren't allowed into the Hospital Wing. One person, a fourth year Gryffindor I did not know, sent me an empty diary. While it seemed a bizarre thing to do, it was rather useful as I wrote in it regularly. Luckily, it was charmed never to run out of paper.

Finally, Madame Pomfrey allowed me to leave on a Thursday morning. She gave me a copy of my timetable for the year and assured me all of my things had been transported to my dormitory.

The corridors of Hogwarts seemed oddly lonesome and melancholic without the rabble of students scurrying between lessons. It also seemed rather larger. I had only just reached the second floor landing when there was a call of, "Potter!"

I sighed – my futile hope was to make my way into the Gryffindor tower and miss double potions. As I had guessed, it was Professor McGonagall who had called out to me.

"Yes, professor?" I said, trying not to show my agitation.

"Where do you think you're going?" Her lips were pursed, her expression decidedly stern. She wore her typical emerald green robes and black hair in a tight bun.

"I just got released from the Hospital Wing so I thought I may as well –"

"Are you alright now?" she said, her expression softening.

"Yeah, I was alright when I woke up," I replied awkwardly.

"Then I'm sure you can start catching up on the lessons you missed, starting by attending the class you have now." She gave me an appraising look over her square glasses. I knew arguing would be futile so I bade her farewell and gloomily made my way to the dungeons.

I dragged my feet towards the cold dungeons and reluctantly entered the Potions classroom. The sight was rather comical. Most of the class were frantically chopping up pieces of caterpillar, prodding their cauldrons with their wands or blowing at the multicoloured liquid bubbling precariously close to the rim of the cauldron. Poor Neville was sweating profusely, even with Hermione whispering what was most likely advice into his ear when Snape was not looking.

I had only taken my second step into the classroom when Snape peered up from the tome on his desk and spotted me. His lips thinned with contempt and he leered at me over his sallow hooked nose.

"Ah Potter," he said sarcastically, getting up from his chair. "How kind of you to grace us with your presence at last." All of the students looked up from their work, except Hermione and Neville, who were attempting to curtail a disaster.

"Harry!" cried Ron from the front row.

"How kind of you to welcome me," I said coolly, surprising both I and Snape. Ron's smile quickly became a gleeful look.

"Ten points from Gryffindor for your insolence," snapped Snape. "Clearly your weak disposition for the past week has failed to instil any humility into you." I could see Malfoy and most of his Slytherin friends guffawing mindlessly.

"Clearly not," I replied. I did not know where these witty comebacks were coming from or why I was not in the least bit angry.

"Another ten points from Gryffindor," said Snape dangerously. "Now, if you are quite satisfied with the attention you're receiving, go to a cauldron and follow the instructions on the board. If you do not finish on time, you can have a detention."

"I don't have any of my things," I said, shaking a little from anger at the injustice.

"Luckily, your Head of House does have the sense you lack and had your potion equipment sent down earlier. Perhaps you should consider beginning? The clock is ticking away…" With that, he retook his sat at his desk, failing to acknowledge Hermione's hand in the air.

I was thankful for small miracles; my cauldron was next to Ron's. I quickly prepared the ingredients for the Shrinking Solution. Ron clapped me on the back in greeting. His solution was effervescing and had turned a pale pink colour.

"Alright?" he said.

"Yeah," I said distractedly, I was concentrating on making sure the caterpillars were cut perfectly.

"Can you believe he made me do half of Malfoy's potion?" he said heatedly.

"Really?" I grunted, not really listening.

"Yeah, all because he was stupid enough to insult a hypogriff! You should've seen him scream like a baby, though…"

"Is that so?" I said absent-mindedly. I was now timing my turns and making sure I did it in the right direction.

"Harry!" said Ron heatedly.

"What?" I said irritably, finally looking at him.

"You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying!" I noticed his potion was turning a deeper, deeper shade of red.

"I'm trying to concentrate on this potion, aren't I?" I snapped impatiently.

"You're just as bad as Hermione!"

"Weasley, you can join Potter in detention," called Snape.

"Actually, technically I haven't got that detention yet," I said. A few of the Gryffindors giggled and Snape's beetle-black eyes became slits.

I did not wait for Snape's response, the potion needed another counter-clockwise turn before it turned as red as Ron's. The rest of the lesson passed quickly and, thankfully, Ron did not attempt to start any more conversations. By the end of the lesson, the potion had turned acid green.

As usual, Snape manoeuvred his way around the cauldrons with the usual displeasure. He congratulated Malfoy for his attempt (it was pale green and steaming). He cast one look at Ron's bubbling brick red effort and muttered, "another disaster." He peered down at mine and his expression soured.

"Do you like it?" I asked. He examined it carefully, trying to find fault with it. Even dipping his quill into it yielded no glee, it shrunk perfectly.

"Who helped you?" he snapped.

"Nobody," I said, "I just followed the exact instructions."

"Which is one step above the upper limit of your…intellect," said Snape. "Ten points from Gryffindor for lying to a teacher." Ron and many other Gryffindors cried out in anger over the miscarriage of justice. Snape ignored them and continued moving between the cauldrons, sneering at the poor attempts produced by the other Gryffindors.

Finally, he reached the back of the classroom where Neville was shuffling his feet anxiously. Snape put his hand out, as if asking for something. All eyes were on the pair. Neville shakily handed the Potions Master Trevor the frog. With his free hand, Snape procured a test-tube from his pocket and dipped it in the potion. Even I did not think Snape would go as far as to risk killing a student's pet which, I concluded, was to be the result of Neville's abysmal potion-making skills.

Snape tipped a couple of drops of the potion onto Trevor. I spotted Malfoy's eyes alight with glee and it sickened me. I almost sighed in relief as Trevor became a small, black tadpole, wriggling around Snape's thin hand. Snape emptied the excess potion back into the cauldron and placed it on Neville's desk. He fished around in his robe pocket and produced the antidote. In a blink of an eye, Trevor was back to his usual size, looking as though he had just woken up rather than been turned into a tadpole.

"Ten points from Gryffindor," said Snape, instantly dissipating the Gryffindor cheers. "I told you not to help him, Granger. You are dismissed."

Some things never change.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	3. Secrets and Riddles

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine.

* * *

– **CHAPTER THREE –**

**Secrets and Riddles  
**

* * *

"I told you to keep that damned rabbit away from my room!"

"It's a blinkin' rabbit for Christ's sake!"

The quiet, relaxing confines of sleep had been wrenched from me and had been replaced by another one of Tom's memories. I would have put my head in my hands if I could, but resigned myself to hoping this one would not involve torture or death in any form. A fool's hope.

"I couldn't care less if it was a bloody spider," said Tom angrily, "I don't let pests crawl around your room so why should your stupid rabbit hop into mine?"

Tom was standing in the shabby corridor outside his room, and gestured towards a miniscule rabbit with unkempt brown fur and floppy ears. Its only distinguishing feature was a spoon-sized white patch over one of its beady black eyes. Tom's eyes flicked away from the rabbit, which was making a dash for the spiral stone staircase.

A smile played at the edge of Tom's lips as the boy he was arguing with dived for his pet as it took its front paws off the landing. He had short, astonishing blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He struggled to calm his rabbit but it eventually responded to the tranquil stroking and stopped fidgeting.

"Everyone else puts up with Flopsy so why can't you? You're no different to anyone else. You're not special."

Tom's clenched his fists until they were white and throbbing with pain. I was surprised the rabbit did not just fall dead under his murderous glare. "Don't let me catch your stupid pet in my room again, Billy, or else."

"Or else what?" snapped Billy defiantly. Flopsy was growing restless again.

Tom narrowed his eyes and took a step towards Billy until he could feel the boy's tuna breath against his face. Before he could say a word, however, Flopsy finally escaped from Billy's arms and dug its claws into Tom's pale, exposed forearm as it fell to the floor.

Tom gasped and cried out in pain as blood began forming at the wound. Billy seemed caught between delight and horror. He was saved from making a choice between the two. "What's happened here, then?"

Biting back tears, Tom glanced up at the harassed form of Mrs. Cole coming up the stairs, with Flopsy fruitlessly resisting her vice-like grip. She looked from Billy to Tom suspiciously. Then she spotted the latter's injury.

Understanding the risk of impeding punishment, Tom said, "Billy was just letting me play around with Flopsy." He forced a grin and placed his arm in plainer view. "I s'pose this means she don't like me." Mrs. Cole was not amused.

"You keep this rabbit under control or I'll feed it to the foxes," said Mrs. Cole exasperatedly.

"But Mrs. Cole, it was a present from my dad –"

"I don't care if it was a present from Saint Nicholas," replied Mrs. Cole waspishly, "it'll have to go if it causes a nuisance. Now take it out of my sight!"

"It didn't know what it was doing," said Billy moodily as he relieved Mrs. Cole of Flopsy and dragged his feet down the stairs.

"You won't know what hit you if you keep up that attitude," said Mrs. Cole after him. "Come with me, Tom, I'll have to fix you up."

Tom followed Mrs. Cole, blood oozing from his gash like molten lava from a volcano. Drops of scarlet fell like tears, painting the faded blue carpet. As they silently ascended the stairs to the second floor, Tom silently seethed. How dare Billy let his rabbit loose? How dare the rabbit touch him, let alone scratch him? How dare he get away with it?

They entered the first door just to the left of the second floor landing. The stench of antiseptic invaded Tom. The small, airy room comprised of a bed very similar to his own, and a row of cabinets interrupted by a stained sink.

While Mrs. Cole expertly treated Tom's wound while muttering irritably about wayward pets, he contemplated one thing only: revenge. In a few minutes which seemed to last an age, Mrs. Cole allowed him to leave.

Returning to his room, he opened his cupboard and gritted his teeth in ire. Flopsy was resting on the floor cupboard floor and slowly chewing its way through Tom's best shirt. Tom narrowed his eyes and leered intently at Flopsy. Very suddenly, the rabbit stopped its destruction of Tom's property and bounded out of the room, Tom following it intently. A worrying thought struck me: was Tom _controlling_ Flopsy?

A few of the younger children ignored Tom as he climbed the spiral staircase, Flopsy was at enough of a distance that it could not have been associated with him. Upwards they climbed, past the second, third and fourth landings. On fifth landing, Tom found the scruffy rabbit stood perfectly still beside an old, rusty red door. He willed the door to open and it complied after a small tremor. Tom went in behind the rabbit and closed the door behind him.

The door guarded the largest part of the orphanage: the loft. Illuminated by a faint light which seemed to be tinted with red was a vast expanse of disused and broken objects. From old books to broken tables, from mountains of clothes to half a bed, years of rubbish had been dumped here. Tom noticed, with disdain, some small bones he assumed had belonged to rats. The air was far colder here, far more saturated. It was almost suffocating.

Tom glanced up at the rafters, where a thick piece of rope was dangling. Then his cool gaze returned to the unfortunate rabbit. With guile and speed, it hopped upwards, using the pile of waste as a ladder. After nimbly skipping on top of half a chest of drawers, it made one final leap so high it must have been propelled by magic. I was astonished it had made the eight foot bound to the wooden rafters.

I had a blood-curdling feeling as to what was to happen.

The rope rose like a cobra seduced by its flute-wielding charmer. I wished I could look away but Tom kept his eyes fixed on the frozen rabbit.

Snake-like, the rope writhed across the rabbit's neck and fashioned itself into a noose. Flopsy made its way towards the very edge of the rafter. Then it leapt. Tom smiled.

It had made its final hop.

_Tuesday 15__th __December._

_Dear Diary,_

_I know I promised myself I'd write in this thing every night but I haven't had a chance to. Well, I didn't want to. It just seems bizarre pouring all my thoughts and secrets into a book where everyone can have a look if they really wanted to. But it's come to a point where I have nobody else to talk to about certain stuff. I managed to come up with a secrecy spell to stop the curiosity of my dormmates from having a sneaky peak while I'm asleep. I don't know how I managed to come up with a spell on my own, this is one of the reasons I thought of writing a diary. My mind is so cluttered at the moment._

_Ever since I had that…run in with Sirius Black over the summer, I keep getting these dreams about Tom Riddle. Except, they're not dreams. I'm pretty sure they actually happened. How crazy is that? I'm not sure if this is normal. After the parseltongue thing last year, this just seems like another thing which makes me different. Except this time I'm not angry that I'm different. I don't know why. Am I getting used to it? Or am I maturing? _

_The weird thing about the dreams is that I can hear his thoughts and feel what he feels. What's worse is that in one dream, I felt sorry for him. Well, it was more like I could understand what his going through. Can you believe that? Of course you can't, you're a diary. But it doesn't stop there. When I'm awake, I sometimes copy Riddle. I keep telling myself that it's normal to be picking up a few of his habits – I've definitely picked up enough of Ron's!_

_Ron says I've been acting weird lately. He reckons Hermione's had a bad influence on me. I don't think she has, but I've found learning new things quite interesting and I don't know why. Suddenly I'm comparing myself with Dudley and treating magic as a gift. Whenever McGonagall or Flitwick teaches us something new, especially if it's interesting, I actually practice it outside of lessons! Ron jokes around that he needs to find someone new to mess around with. Sometimes I worry that he's not kidding._

_Snape still treats me like dung but it's bearable because the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Lupin, is really kind and, as a bonus, knows his stuff! That's a change! The only gripe I have with him is that he didn't let me face the boggart, but I suppose he didn't want Voldemort to appear in the middle of his classroom, even if it was a stupid pest in disguise. Hagrid seems really gutted that I haven't taken Care of Magical Creatures, he's a bit distant when we visit him. Sometimes I don't care, sometimes I feel so guilty – he was my first ever friend after all. I don't regret it, though. Arithmancy is really interesting and Tracey Davis, a Slytherin girl who sits next to me in Ancient Runes, says that Hagrid's lessons are incredibly boring after Malfoy getting attacked. Hermione refused to say a bad word about him, she said he was just being cautious._

_Speaking of Tracey Davis, I can't stop looking at her. She's one of the prettiest girl I've ever seen in my life. Hermione reckons it's just infatuation and that it'll pass. I hope so. I can hardly manage a string of clear sentences when she's around._

_Hermione's been managing to be in two places at once recently and I have no idea how. I don't even know if it's me making a mountain out of a molehill (as she keeps telling me). One minute she'll be walking with me and Ron and the next she'd be back down the corridor, running to catch up with us with extra books in her arms. I've been trying everything to get something out of her but she won't budge._

_She's doubly suspicious of me as I am of her. She keeps asking how I became so…clever, I suppose is the word. In lessons, I know most of the answers to questions (though I rarely put my hand up) and most teachers like me now. It's not just the teachers. When people talk to me, I always seem to know the right thing to say. My Arithmancy and Ancient Runes classes have virtually no Gryffindors so I've had to talk to a lot of Ravenclaws. They really seem to take to me, and, for once, not because I'm Harry Potter. They're more interesting than I thought they'd be – like Hermione, but easier going._

_I've been bumping into Ginny a lot recently. I don't know if she's doing it on purpose or if I'm being too paranoid, but I wish she'd stop. I'm tired of the awkward conversations. And I hate that Ron doesn't step in and tell her to stop – it's almost like he wants it to keep happening. I'm also tired of people asking me to tell them what happened. I quickly got bored of their questions when I told them I got obliviated so I just tell a shortened version of Dumbledore's tale of events._

_Halloween came and went. It was as eventless as the year's been so far. I was glad about that since I'm a bit tired of adventure now. I just want to work out how to stop Riddle's memories happening and look forward to Quidditch matches. Speaking of Quidditch, we trounced Slytherin. Wood was pretty happy I caught the snitch exactly when he planned me to. Even with his Nimbus 2001, Malfoy isn't a very good seeker. He just made my job easier._

_That's all I can think of at the moment, and I think Ron's about to wake up anyway. He's doing his arm stretching ritual._

_Until next time (I won't promise when), _

_Harry._

The grey sky rumbled and growled like an angry, hungry wolf. It promised a downpour of rain and, judging by the brisk, bitter winds whipping between the decrepit skyline, snow. Sitting quite still on a patch of yellowing grass near the solid iron gates of the orphanage, unperturbed by the prospect of being drenched, was Tom. He looked around the same age as he did when the orphans went into the cave. Why was I not inside him this time? It was a welcome relief.

I moved closer towards his hunched form and peered over his shoulder. He held in his hands a small, tattered black book. The print was so small I could not make out the words on the yellowing pages. It seemed the sort of book a grown adult would have been intimidated by, let alone an eleven year old child.

A light clip-clopping attracted my attention. Strutting past the gates of the orphanage were two magnificent horses with luscious black coats. They were pulling an intricate carriage carved out of expensive wood, finished with golden-framed doors. Tom too looked up and his handsome young face contorted into a scowl. But in the frown, I noticed a sense of longing. He did not avert his gaze until the carriage had passed out of sight entirely.

The clouds rumbled deeply.

To both Tom's surprise and mine, we were not alone on our yellowing patch of grass. Struggling to slither out of sight was a small, scaly snake, no longer than a hand span. I guessed it must have been a baby since it was so miniscule. I called feel my brow furrowing as Tom's did. A snake in London? The chances were more than remote.

Tom's dark eyes were fixed on the snake, his skin deathly white. As I drew nearer, I understood why. "_Blood too thick…no mice…no food…hurts…it hurts…"_ I remembered the first time I heard a snake speak, at the zoo. I could appreciate Tom's utter shock.

The snake was slithering towards the iron gates. Tom extended his unnaturally long fingers and picked up the snake. "_Filthy human…I can taste it…it hurts…but no, I cannot…just a bite…no…it hurts."_ Tom stared ashen-faced at the snake, shaking to such an extent I was surprised the snake hadn't managed to wriggle out of grip.

"_H-Hello?"_ hissed Tom shakily. The snake stopped writhing. It hung limp in Tom's unsteady grasp.

A drop of rain fell and connected with Tom's wrist.

"_Can you understand me?"_ asked Tom, a little uncertain but no longer shaking.

"_It speaks…the human speaks…it is he…can he help I wonder…"_

Tom's lips twitched then, slowly at first, a wide smile had spread over his face. He looked like a child who had finally got the present he had been asking for all year. But why was he so happy? I wasn't until I had managed to embarrass Dudley with it.

More drops of rain fell and pattered against the stone floor.

"_What hurts?" _asked Tom quickly. _"How can I help?"_

"_It hurts…it hurts…nasty humans…"_

Tom raised the snake so it was level with his eyes, unaware of the steadily deteriorating weather. He ran a finger along the side of the snake, concentrating like a surgeon on a particularly delicate patient.

"_The pain…gone…it is he…masster…masster…"_ I stared at Tom disbelievingly. He had somehow managed to cure a snake of an illness he definitely didn't know of. I started to wonder whether he even needed a wand, or even Hogwarts.

Tom turned slowly and walked towards the orphanage, slowly stroking the snake, rain lashing across his drenched body.

_Thursday 27__th__ March_

_Dear Diary,_

_The dreams about Tom Riddle keep coming. I don't know what to do. Should I talk to Dumbledore? Would he care? I don't know why I don't tell anyone; whenever I decide to, something holds me back. I'm starting to think something addled my brain that night at the Dursleys, something Dumbledore either doesn't know or didn't tell me._

_I questioned Ginny long and hard about how she felt with the diary. Surprise, surprise, she's not giving much away. Maybe it's an after-effect of the diary? Whatever it is, I'm tired of it. And now she thinks I'm interested in her and so does Ron. _

_Speaking of Ron, my worry that he'd get bored of me is slowly coming true. Just because I'd rather research ways of stopping these dreams than play a stupid game of exploding snap, he gets into a huff. Then I snap at him to go and play with someone else so he starts playing with Dean. Things are looking even worse on the Hagrid front. All the homework I've been getting from Arithmancy and Runes means I've had hardly any time to visit him. Hermione says he just needs time to get over the disappointment. I'm not sure he will._

_I decided to stay at the castle for Christmas (big surprise) and so did the Weasleys. It was a quiet Christmas. The bizarre Divination professor Ron keeps moaning about, Professor Trelawney, decided to come down to Christmas dinner for the first time in the years I've been here. She kept looking at me sadly and gasping, as if someone were about to murder me. I finally asked her what was wrong and she said, in a weird raspy sort of voice, '_your dreams, they shall consume you.'_ McGonagall snorted derisively but Dumbledore looked curious. Ron assured me she was a fraud so I ignored it. _

_I found out, to my surprise, that some Slytherins are actually alright. Whenever a mutual Ravenclaw friend, like Terry, introduces me to one, they're perfectly normal to talk to. When I told Hermione, she tutted in an 'I told you so' kind of way and Ron lectured me on how it's their way of luring me in. Seamus and Dean have been a bit short with me recently – they don't approve of any contact with Slytherins. _

_There's a fourth year Ravenclaw girl who I can't stop thinking about now. She's so unbelievably pretty; I can't keep my eyes off her. I've been told her name's Cho Cang. She's so pretty she made me forget about Tracey. Terry and Michael Corner laugh when they catch me staring at her in the library. Hermione doesn't find it too funny. She says it's just a crush that will go away. She was sort of right with Tracey, so I guess she could be right again. I wish it would go away sooner rather than later, though, or I'll need to find somewhere else to work._

_Talking of things I'd like to go away, Parvati's been acting really weird these past few weeks. She keeps hanging around me, Ron and Hermione. Ron thought she was 'after him'. I told him to ask her out then. He did and she said no. He refused to talk to me for a week; he thought I had set him up. We made up the other day but he's still frosty. Now I need to work out why she insists on sitting with us in the Great Hall and common room. Between her, Ginny in the corridors and Cho Chang in the library, I can't find a minute where I'm not hiding or daydreaming._

_Quidditch practice has been __killing me. Wood is convinced we'll win the cup this year and he's not letting anyone or anything stand in the way. He's got us training three times a week, just in case I 'get into any trouble later on in the season'. Katie agrees he should stop putting me under so much pressure but she won't dare tell him in case he kicks her off the team. Oh well, I guess it's for my own good _and_ it keeps my mind off these dreams._

_The exams are coming up soon. For the first time ever, I'm actually looking forward to them. I've got a feeling that I'll do better than last year. Hermione says that's not going to happen without revision. While I don't do anywhere near the amount she does, I do a fair amount with my new study buddy Terry Boot. He's great – funny, clever and understanding. I can tell him things I wouldn't dream of telling Ron and Hermione since he isn't involved with Gryffindor._

_Someone's coming up the stairs, I need to stop writing now, _

_Harry._

I was a little angered as I saw the setting sun cast a crimson radiance over the grey, bleak London landscape. I had thought I would get some peace tonight; the night before my first exam. The sun's rays poked around St. Paul's Cathedral but refused to warm the cobbled road Vauxhall. I was once again utterly taken aback by the backwardness of the city before the Second World War.

There were no cars in this part of the city. If the ash-stained buildings did not convey the poverty of the area, the state of its inhabitants certainly did. A boy so skinny bones stuck out at angles was walking from door to door, his dirt-ridden hands clasped together, yearning for food.

"Got any food, 'gov?" he begged Tom in a small voice. His eyes were grey and distant, almost broken. Tom shook his head without saying a word. He did, however, track the boy's progress towards a nearby terraced house. A woman with jet black hair fashioned into tight curls wearing a white apron answered his pleads with a look of scorn and a few well-chosen words before slamming the door shut.

Tom tore his eyes away from the urchin and turned right at the end of the row of terraced houses. A rusted sign told him it was Vauxhall Road. There was a dog-like beggar with small, keen eyes and dirty grey hair sitting underneath the rusted sign. Tom tried to hide his contempt for the man as he quickened his pace down the road.

Tom's destination soon became clear.

Beside the shell of a terraced house, black with ash, was a grey building, slightly taller than the others. The windows were dusty and revealed very little from the outside. The crooked sign read 'Smith's Stationer's'. Tom showed no reaction to its appearance except a twitch at the mouth. He collected himself and entered through a green, wooden door, triggering a tinny bell.

The shop was dim, even the flickering bulb hanging from the low ceiling could not change this. There were shelves running the length of the walls either side of Tom, groaning under the weight of books, pens, inks and other small pieces of stationary. The chipped wooden counter was unmanned but I guessed the owner, presumably Smith, was on the other side of a small door behind the counter.

Tom browsed the shelves in the far corner of the room where the exercise books were displayed. He flicked through them with great speed before deciding on a black book. As he picked it out, realisation dawned on me. This was the book that was to become Riddle's diary. It made sense. This shop was on Vauxhall Road.

With a quick glance around, Riddle placed the book underneath his grey top. Curiously, it looked almost as though nothing was there. While I disapproved of the theft, his 'accidental' magic never ceased to amaze me.

"What can I do you for, son?" Riddle almost jumped at the gruff voice. A man in his last walks of life was behind the counter. He had an unruly grey beard and a wild look in his dark eyes.

"Do…you have any books on the Great War, sir?" asked Tom, regaining his composure.

"Afraid not, boy. You might wanna try Manor Lane; there's a bloody good bookshop there for young scholarly types."

Riddle thanked him and almost ran out of the shop. I had to jog to keep up with him as he turned this way and that. It was rather difficult making out where he was as night had finally fallen. Tom evidently knew the area well as I was following him through a number of deserted alleyways. Finally, we came to the grim orphanage.

Tom did not take the front entrance as I had expected but went around the side of the building. He came to a spot beside the building covered in gravel. He tapped his foot on the floor and listened. After repeating this for a number of different spots, he seemed satisfied and began moving gravel. My confusion turned to surprise as a door appeared. Tom opened it and entered. I just managed to fit through before he closed it.

We appeared to be in some sort of cellar, though it was far too dark to make out any details. I blindly followed the sound of Tom's footsteps. He managed to reach his room without Mrs. Cole noticing. He removed the diary and placed it under his pillow.

_Sunday 15__th__ July._

_Dear Diary,_

_Good news and bad news. Bad news: I'm back at the Dursleys. Good news: __I'm no longer having the dreams about Riddle every night; it tends to skip nights every now and then. I hope this means it's slowly going to grind to a halt. But I have a confession to make: I'm beginning to find them fascinating. I've been seeing what made Tom Riddle turn into Voldemort and I know secrets about him no one else does. Is it wrong to be interested by them? I'm beginning to think I'm taking a _liking_ to Tom and that's what worries me the most. I don't now what to do. Whenever I tell myself to visit Dumbledore, something always stops me and I don't know what it is. _

_Hermione asked me what was wrong with me near the end of term when I had dozed off in the common room and had a short but violent dream about Riddle. Luckily everyone else had already gone up to their dorms. She said I was thrashing around like a lunatic. I told her it was just a bad dream. She didn't buy it. I've got a horrible feeling that she'll find out sooner rather later. What if she thinks I'm crazy? Worse still, what if she thinks I'm turning Dark?_

_She wouldn't be far off. A week before term ended, Malfoy insulted me in a corridor full of people. For a second, I felt like killing him. Not a childish wish to kill him. I actually wanted to see him dead. I keep trying to tell myself that he just caught me at the wrong time (I'd only just argued with Ron about something stupid, I forgot what it was now)._

_As I predicted, I did well in the end of year exams. I came second only to Hermione, and__ even that was close. She finally told me how she'd managed to get to all those lessons. It's a little contraption could a time-turner. She decided not to use it next year, though, since it had exhausted her so much. _

_We won the Quidditch Cup this year. I caught the snitch at the exact right time against Ravenclaw. Cho wasn't too happy. Everyone made a huge thing of it, but to be honest, it didn't mean as much to me as I first thought it would. Dean and Seamus and the others were suddenly best friends with me again, which annoyed Ron almost as much as it did me. It just seemed so shallow that the same people who were whispering behind my back last year had the nerve to congratulate me. I didn't go to the celebration party._

_Some of the Ravenclaws had a sour taste in their mouths after the match and weren't too pleased with me. Terry assured me that it was temporary. He invited me to his house during the summer, by the way! I was so happy at a chance to leave the Dursleys! McGonagall had a word with me and said I'd have to stay with the Dursleys for a couple of weeks, though. Terry said we might even get a chance to get tickets to the final of the Quidditch World Cup! _

_I doubt it'll ever be the same with Ron now. The worst thing possible happened. Ginny asked me out. What could I say? I couldn't pretend that I was interested in a girl I didn't find attractive in any way. So I said no. Apparently__, she took it badly. Ron blew up at me but I was having none of it. Hermione tried to get Ron to see that I had done the right thing but his eyes were firmly shut. Idiot. Now he's not talking to me or Hermione. Next year will be fun._

_I have to go to sleep now, or else Uncle Vernon will notice the light from the torch I stole from Dudley._

_Harry._

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…** _  
_


	4. The Outcasts

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine.

**Edit:** I thought I'd save some time by finding and replacing things like 'tom'. That backfired, so here's the manually checked version.

* * *

**- CHAPTER FOUR -**

**The Outcasts**

* * *

_Sunday 15__th__ November_

_Dear Diary,_

_I haven't written in this in ages… as usual. It's just hard to keep it up when McGonagall drowns us with homework._

_Riddle is really beginning to grow on me. What is wrong with me? Now that the dreams occur every few nights, I'm both hoping and dreading that they'll end. Because of that, it's sort of become like a series on television that I know will soon end. Even I can't deny that he's had a huge impact on me, both positive and negative._

_For example, I had a vision that he was practicing some really advanced spells in an abandoned classroom. I concentrated on how he was doing it and practiced myself earlier today. I managed to do most of them but I took longer than he did to learn them. Why does he spend so much time searching for the stupid Chamber? If only he spent more time learning spells, I'll come top of the year this time. _

_Something amazing happened in the week I was with the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon tried to get me to wash his car for him and I said no. He started shouting at me but I managed to silence him with a look. Can you believe that? I just got really angry and stared at him. He started mumbling then left me in my room. I tried it with Dudley and it worked again! The days when the Dursleys got to me are a thing of the past._

_The Quidditch World Cup was brilliant. I really got a taste of wizarding life. The tents were the size of houses, the campsites were vibrant and Terry, Hermione and I learnt so much from the wizards from other countries, particularly the Bulgarians. The match itself was great - the difference in class between the professionals and school matches was obvious from the beginning. Quidditch is the best career a man could ever want. Ireland won._

_We went home straight after the match and Hermione stayed for another few days at Terry's house. Summer at Terry's was the best I've ever had. His dad, a Pureblood, works at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Games and Sports, and his mum, a Muggleborn, works at St. Mungo's as a Healer. Since he is an only child and his parents earn more than the Weasleys, they had a nicer house - a cottage in the Cornish countryside._

_We spent most days playing Quidditch and lazing about doing nothing. The best day was when we took an ageing potion from Mrs. Boot's private store and went down to the local town. There's a club there that we sneaked into. After a lot of beer, which Terry said was nothing compared to Firewhisky, and a lot of flirting with the other clubbers, we staggered home. We would've done it again had Mr. Boot not realised what we'd done. He told Terry off but didn't tell Mrs. Boot. _

_A tournament called Tri-Wizard has come to Hogwarts this year. I knew since the summer because Terry's dad is good friends with Ludo Bagman, the co-judge for the tournament. Terry wanted us to try and enter. I didn't know if I wanted to, to be honest. On one hand, it's a good replacement for Quidditch, which I really miss, but on the other, I couldn't have been able to stand everyone watching me, knowing what I know._

_Another nightmare is the Yule Ball. Well, it's not as big a nightmare as it could've been, but it's a nightmare nonetheless. Hermione said I should hurry up or all the good girls will be taken, so I dove in at the deep end and asked Cho Chang. Can you believe it, she said yes! Terry got over his jealousy when Hermione said yes to him._

_Since we're going to the Ball together, Cho is spending a lot of time with me. She's quite nice but I don't like the way she flaunts our relationship. Like, she comes up to me in the middle of a crowded corridor and grabs my hand when everyone's watching. I really hope she doesn't make a scene at the actual Ball._

_To make matters worse, I've fallen back to my old habit of staring at that Slytherin girl - Tracey Davis - when I'm bored in class. Hermione says that it's only natural that I want what I can't have. Strange thing is, I sometimes catch Tracey looking at me, or at least I think I do. Maybe I'm imagining things._

_Terry introduced me to a boy called Blaise Zabini the other day. The Gryffindors say that he's an arrogant pretty boy but I actually got on really well with him. He was quite cutting but Terry warned me about that. Hermione didn't like him much, but that might have had something to do with Blaise's blatant flirting. Terry kept trying to tell her that it's what he does to most girls he meets but she wasn't having any of it. It'll be interesting to see how that plays out._

_What else has happened…oh yeah! The new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher is an ex-Auror called Moody. He is without a doubt the best teacher I've ever had. Lupin was good, but Moody goes beyond the curriculum in a big way. I saw my chance and hung back one lesson. I fed him some lies about how I wanted to be a celebrated Auror and now he's giving me weekly lessons on some complex pre-Auror material. Hermione wasn't too happy._

_My hand's hurting now. So until next time…_

_Harry_

_Sunday 15__th__ February _

_Dear Diary,_

_Oh dear - another big gap between entries. I might just stop doing this altogether - I looked at the old entries and it was so embarrassing._

_Anyway, Valentine's Day was an absolute mess. I had an absolute nightmare of a Valentine's gift from Riddle. He turned up at his father's house and murdered his dad and grandparents. It was horrible. As if the weather knew, it poured down with rain the whole day; I'm surprised we weren't swimming to Hogsmeade. _

_All of this was nothing compared to the disastrous date with Cho. Even if I weren't already getting bored of her, I would have hated it. We went to Madame Puddifoot's, which she knows I hate. If that wasn't enough, she kept moaning loudly about how bad her Quidditch team is - people were staring at us. I tried to get her to shut up but that only made her more unbearable. To make matters worse, Tracey Davis and a couple of her Slytherin friends were sitting at a nearby table sniggering at us. The thing that made me snap was when she confronted me about Hermione - apparently her friends have been saying Hermione and I are closer than Cho and I. Very annoyed, I told her it was true and left the nutcase. _

_As I stormed back up to Hogwarts, Malfoy decided it was a perfect time to make jibes at my dad. I made a few snide comments about _his_ father and he turned his wand on me. He's in the Hospital Wing now. Hermione caught up with me and started telling me off; something about how I should have risen above him. Being in a crabby mood, I snapped back at her so she didn't talk to me for the rest of the day._

_I confided in Terry this morning and he found the whole thing hilarious. Hermione didn't find it as funny but said it was for the best. I feel a little bit better than I did yesterday since Blaise told me Tracey Davies might be interested in me. I can never tell when he's joking or not, though. I'll see what happens in lessons tomorrow._

_Harry._

I found myself on platform nine and three-quarters, much as it was in the present day. I kept my eyes peeled for Riddle. It wasn't long before I spotted him some way down the platform. He was stood quite still, within touching distance of the gleaming Hogwarts Express, staring at something I couldn't quite see. I drew closer to him and noticed that his trunk was shabby, moth-eaten and miniscule. I wondered why he didn't just use money from his Gringott's account to buy a better one.

His clothes, too, were of a similar scruffiness. He wore a faded white t-shirt, a brown flat cap and brown shorts, failing to hide his knees, which were adorned with scars. I looked over Tom's shoulder and followed his gaze. It was a mother with long, blonde hair reassuring her equally blonde son. From the look of nervousness on his face, I could tell he was a first year.

"I don't want to go to Hogwarts anymore," the boy was saying.

"Why ever not, dear?" replied his mother lovingly. She brushed a long lock of hair from in front of his eyes and tucked it behind his ear.

"I don't know any magic," he said, "the others won't like me."

"Don't worry about it, love. They'll come to love you almost as much as I do. The girls won't know what's hit them."

"Mum!" cried the boy, alarmed. They shared an embrace nonetheless. Tom, his face unreadable, looked away and hauled his trunk onto the train.

Most of the carriages Tom walked past were full of excited witches and wizards chatting to one another. However, when he made to open one of the carriage doors, he found himself on the receiving end of a sea of disapproving faces. They took one look at his attire before turning their noses up.

Finally, near the very end of the train, he found a carriage holding only one person. He also looked like a first year, judging by the way the sleeves of his robes hid his hands. I could not help but stare at the boy and wonder where I'd seen him before. It may have been his eyes, which were a dark shade of brown, or his jet black hair, which stuck up at the back. He pushed his round glasses up his nose and looked up from the first-year Transfiguration book resting on his lap. There was no scorn in either his eyes or smile.

Tom hesitantly walked in, giving the boy a piercing look. "Can I sit here?" he said.

"Why not?" replied the boy pleasantly. He pulled up the sleeves of one of his arms, so that his hand became visible, and offered it to Tom. "My name's Maximus, Maximus Potter. Almost everyone calls me Max, though." I noticed a glint in Tom's eyes. Was it jealousy?

"I'm Tom, Tom Riddle." He shook Max's outstretched hand. I turned my attention back towards Max. Was this my grandfather? Was it possible?

"Nice to meet you, Tom," said Max. "I'm guessing from your name that you aren't a Pureblood?" Tom stiffened, probably because he didn't recognize the word, but I wasn't sure. Max took it as an angry gesture. "Oh, don't worry; I won't judge you for of it. I've heard enough of my Nan's angry supremacy rants to put me off the idea for a while." He smiled weakly. "So, when did you find out you were coming here? I guess your parents were pretty shocked?" Tom paled and ran a hand through his hair.

"Sorry," said Max quickly, his eyes wide, "did I say something wrong?"

"No," said Tom quietly. "My parents weren't shocked because they're dead. At least, my mother is." The contempt as he said this did not go unnoticed.

"Sorry," said Max somberly. He hesitated and shot a mildly hopeful look at Tom, as if judging him trustworthy for some grave secret. Finally, he said, "my parents are dead too. They were Aurors - Dark Wizard catchers. My Nan raised me since I was about six." There was a heavy silence. Seeing that Tom wasn't going to break it, Max said, "What house do you want to be in?" Mingled with Tom's reluctant look of confusion, I saw something I had never seen before - was it understanding?

"House?" said Tom. From what I already knew about Tom, it was evident that his ignorance was beginning to irk him. I remember vividly the memory of Tom asking for some money to buy books, money the orphanage didn't have. A harassed Mrs. Cole had told him Hogwarts would provide him with books when he got there.

"Sorry, forgot," said Max sheepishly. "There are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and Slytherin. My Nan said she'd go mental if I don't get sorted into Slytherin. She says only the best wizards go there. But I'm in a bit of a pickle. You see, my dad's family's been in Gryffindor since before anyone I spoke to can remember, but my Nan traced my mother's side all the way back to Salazar Slytherin's niece. It's the first thing she ever says whenever she meets anyone. As long as I'm not in Hufflepuff, I'll be happy."

I sat transfixed throughout the monologue and lapped it up with more eagerness than Riddle did. I'm related to Slytherin? No wonder the Sorting Hat was stuck between Gryffindor and Slytherin. Just as this thought sunk in, a far more terrible one followed. I was related to Voldemort.

The remainder of the train ride passed quickly and uneventfully. Max spent much of it explaining the wonders of the Wizarding World to a captivated Riddle as the train tore through the sleepy countryside. It took Tom at least an hour to truly contribute to the conversation. He had been warily quiet until that point, perhaps worried that Max would turn on him as the other students did.

As the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, the two boys were chatting amicably, sharing theories about what the Sorting Ceremony entailed. Very soon, they were in the Great Hall waiting to be sorted.

"It's only a hat!" exclaimed Max, as Michelle Adams was sorted into Hufflepuff. Tom, however, was not listening. His gaze was fixed on the younger Dumbledore, who was carrying out the role I was so accustomed to see Professor McGonagall fill. I glanced up at the staff table and felt a jolt as a number of unfamiliar faces stared back. It was strange not seeing the likes of Snape, Flitwick and Sprout lazily watching the sorting.

One by one, the first years were called up and were sorted. I was brought out of my musings when Dumbledore said, "Moody, Alastor." A scrawny boy with a shock of brown hair hopped onto the stool and put the Sorting Hat on. It almost engulfed his entire head. Not long after it had covered Moody's head did it cry, "SLYTHERIN!"

My eyes never left Moody as he jumped down from the stool and took a seat next to a blonde first year girl. There was only a light smattering of applause. Moody was a Slytherin? While I never gave any thought to what a younger Moody would be like, he seemed to exemplify everything Gryffindor stood for. In our private lessons, he never gave anything away about his past - not that I asked. Was he friends with my grandfather?

"Potter, Maximus." My eyes flicked back towards Dumbledore. Max seemed very pale as he walked up to the stool holding the Sorting Hat. It may have been my imagination but I was sure that Dumbledore winked as Max passed him.

It seemed to take an age for Max to be sorted. Muttering broke out. Even I got a little bored with waiting anxiously. Did it take this long for me?

"Maybe the hat's not working," whispered a girl from the nearby Slytherin table.

Finally, the brim of the hat ripped open and it shouted, "SLYTHERIN!" I could feel my eyes widen. My grandfather was a Slytherin? If only I had known that on the train journey in my first year. Then I'd have gone with the Sorting Hat's first judgment, which seemed now to make so much more sense than mine did.

"A Potter in Slytherin?" whispered someone from the Slytherin table. "He doesn't belong here."

"His grandma's a Peverell, though," said another voice, "mother said so."

Dumbledore's loud cough brought silence to the Hall once more as Max walked nervously to the Slytherin Table. He shared a small smile with Tom, whose turn it was to turn a pale shade of white.

"Riddle, Tom," said Dumbledore, after Veronica Reed became a Hufflepuff. Tom slowly walked to the stool. He looked at Dumbledore. There was no smile on his face, let alone the wink he had sent Max. Indeed, he shot Tom a stern look, one McGonagall would have been proud of.

I expected Tom's sorting to take almost as much time as Max's, or at least longer than Moody's. However, no sooner had the hat touched his head, did it shout, "SLYTHERIN."

Again, there was discontented murmuring. Max was one of the very few students who were clapping.

"Riddle, did he say?"

"That's not a name I've ever hear of."

"A _mudblood_ in Slytherin?"

Max pointed towards Moody, who was sitting opposite him. Tom coldly cast his eye up and down the table. As he finally shook Moody's hand, everything went black. No! This one memory I wanted to experience in full!

Someone was shaking me.

I opened my eyes and yawned loudly. I looked down at my hands, where this week's Transfiguration Today lay. Hermione was standing over me, a disapproving look marring her features.

"What?" I said, louder than I had intended.

"Shh!" she said, looking around. Madame Pince, who was leading a procession of books to their shelves like a conductor, shot me and affronted look.

"Why'd you wake me up?" I snapped. I had the rarest of opportunities to find out what my grandfather was like and I had been robbed of it. Judging by the fact that my parents died by Voldemort's hand, Max and Tom's friendship must have been fleeting. While I knew Hermione could never have known what she had interrupted, I couldn't help but feel supremely annoyed.

"The library's closing now," she said waspishly. "Even your girlfriend's left." I looked around bleary-eyed, and indeed I could not see Tracey, who I had asked out only a fortnight ago.

"What?" I said, glancing down at my watch. "Crap!" I jumped to my feet and tore out of the library - I should have been knocking on Moody's door five minutes ago. I knew how he hated lateness, especially since this was our last lesson before the summer. A minute later, I was knocking on his classroom door, panting.

"Come in."

It was not Moody's rough growl that greeted me, but Snape's sneering tones. What was going on? I drew my wand as a precautionary method, as Moody had taught me to, and opened the door.

As usual, the tables and chairs that usually occupied the centre of the classroom were stacked along the walls either side of me, giving the room a strangely empty feel to it. Occupying the very centre of the room, as if he had chosen the spot meticulously, was Snape.

"What are you doing here, Potter?" asked Snape coldly.

"I am here for a remedial lesson with Professor Moody," I said, hating the tired excuse I had used with everybody but Terry and Hermione. "Why are _you_ here?"

"It seems that you are under the unfortunate impression that you own this castle," said Snape, his upper lip curling. "It reminds me of another foolish Potter. He too strutted around the castle, expecting all in his path to bow down -"

"Shut up," I snapped. I didn't care if he was a Professor; there was no way I was going to let him get away with insulting my father. Perhaps it was the memory of Max, but Snape's comments made me want to hex him more than they usually did.

"Detention, Potter," said Snape, looking like an ugly spider that had eaten a particularly juicy fly.

"Where's Professor Moody?" I asked, trying to control my anger.

"I had banked on your rudimentary skills in observation," said Snape slowly, "clearly even this is beyond your grasp. Let me explain; Professor Moody is not here. I know this because I cannot see him. If he were here, you would see him. Do you understand this concept?" He smiled condescendingly at me.

I did not trust myself to stay in the room with Snape any longer. I turned around and clutched the cold, brass handle of the door. The next thing I knew I was lying on the stone floor of Moody's classroom, a wand in my face.

"You've forgotten my golden rule, Potter." Despite my vulnerable position and rising feeling of embarrassment, I was glad to hear Moody's familiar growl.

"Constant vigilance," I said monotonously. I hoisted myself up to my feet with a groan and shook the dust from my robes. I should have known that Moody would never let Snape anywhere near his classroom unsupervised. The near-perfect jibe at my father had put me off the trail.

"What did that exercise teach you, Potter?" snapped Moody, his electric blue magical eye looking frantically left and right. Any other teacher, and I would have come up with a witty retort. But not with Moody.

"Firstly, to check that people are who they say they are," I said. "Secondly, not to let personal feelings get in the way and, finally, never to turn my back on someone I don't trust." Moody grunted approvingly.

"It's a coward who attacks a man when his back is turned," he said gruffly, "but the scum of the Wizarding World are all cowards."

"Even Voldemort?" I said quietly. Both Moody's eyes rested on me momentarily and I felt as though I was being cross-examined.

"Aye," he growled, "especially Voldemort. His last act was one of cowardice, son." He pointed a gnarled finger at my scar.

"Have you ever seen Voldemort?" I asked, hoping I wasn't giving away any of the eagerness that was bubbling inside of me.

"Seen him?" barked Moody mirthlessly. "Last time I saw him was almost the last time I saw, see?" He pointed at his magical eye.

"Did you know him at Hogwarts?" I asked. In a blink of an eye, Moody had me pinned against the door, his wand digging into my chin. I winced as the pain shot through the floor of my mouth.

"Immediately after the lesson on Unforgivables," he snarled, "what did I give you?" I thought back to that memorable lesson. Moody mistook my interest for fear and called me back after the lesson.

"A picture of my parents with a group of their friends," I rasped, struggling to breathe.

"And what did I say about your father?" he said, refusing to release me.

"That you shouldn't have favourites as Head Auror," I wheezed, "but he was yours." He released me immediately and I rubbed my chin where his wand had been seconds before.

"Sorry, Potter," he said gruffly, "but when folks start enquiring about Voldemort's past, I start to get suspicious, see?" I nodded. He rubbed his bicep and his magical eye disappeared into the back of his head.

"It's just that next to Voldemort's award for special services, I noticed two awards dated for a year after. One was the _Bilius Digby Ancient Runes_ award and the other -"

"- the _Helga Hufflepuff Award for Outstanding Improvement._" There was a glint in his small, dark eye; I had the feeling he was impressed. "Aye, I was at school with him - your grandfather too. In fact, those were the only two awards we could manage between us since Riddle got everything else. I wondered when you'd work it out." Moody flicked his wand and I flinched. I soon felt very foolish as two of the chairs at the side hopped towards us. Moody took one, I the other.

No matter what I did, I could not calm down. I was going to find out about my grandfather! The thought was too great, too wonderful.

"We were all friends at one stage," said Moody, "Maxi, Tom and I." He rubbed his bicep again before continuing. "It was natural for three outcasts to turn to each other for friendship. The Slytherins hated my Dumbledore-loving family, Max's surname and, of course, Tom's heritage."

"But he's the heir -"

"- of Slytherin, I know. Hell, we all knew - he wouldn't stop obsessing about it. But the others couldn't bring themselves to believe him. A half-blood heir of Slytherin!" He laughed dryly. "They refused to accept him, especially considering who his friends were. Between you and me, which all of this is, this had a phenomenal effect on Tom. It consumed him, Potter. There came a time where he had to accept that he would never have a place in the Slytherin house hierarchy." Moody's magical eye became fixed on a point through the far wall.

"What then?" I asked, enthralled.

"Your grandfather, Tom and I formed a group. We were all gifted, all wildly ambitious, all in similar circumstances. It isn't unusual for a group of such young wizards to come together. Hell, just look at your father and his friends." I remembered the conversations I had with Professor Lupin last year and smiled faintly. "Of course, our aims were a little more serious and dangerous than humiliating Slytherins on a regular basis. We were working towards fixing something that had affected all our lives, something that affects everyone -" Both Moody's eyes flicked towards the door.

"What -" Moody silenced me by jabbing his wand at the space between us. A table materialized in a blink of an eye and with two flicks, a piece of parchment rose up from inside the table itself. Moody scribbled furiously on the parchment as a knock resounded throughout the room. Moody stood and indicated for me to follow suit.

"And that is why, Potter," he said, slightly louder than usual, hobbling towards the door, "we use a simple stunner rather than that disarming spell you can't get enough of. Especially if your opponent is a Muggleborn. It's all part of my golden rule - which is?"

"Constant vigilance," I said for the second time, greatly annoyed that we were interrupted in this of all lessons. Moody opened the door where Dumbledore stood, looking at us both quite serenely.

"I hope I haven't interrupted, Alastor," he said with a smile.

"No, we were just finishing," said Moody gruffly. "Follow the instructions on that sheet and you'll live when I'm not here to hold your hand." He folded the parchment and placed it roughly into my hands.

"Reassuring as you ever have been," said Dumbledore pleasantly. I stepped out into the corridor.

"They're here to be taught," said Moody irritably as Dumbledore stepped into the classroom, "not mollycoddled. And if you think you can convince me to ruin my retirement again next year…" He slammed the door shut and I was suddenly alone. I glanced down at the brusquely folded parchment. Soothing it out, I read and re-read it, feeling my eyes narrow.

NEVER ASK AGAIN

NEVER MENTION IT

THE SECRET BELONGS TO THE KNIGHTS OF WALPURGIS

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	5. The Plan

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine.

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– **CHAPTER FIVE –**

**The Plan**

* * *

The wind howled ominously. It carried loose debris and battered it against the immense arch windows of the Astronomy Tower. I sat quite still with my legs draped out ahead of me, staring up at the velvety midnight sky. A dark cloud slowly moved, silver rays peeking around it. Finally, the naked full moon was illuminated.

I sighed. Tonight I should have had my first sound night's sleep in weeks. We had our last OWL exam this morning and were free to do as we pleased for a whole weekend. There were even rumours that Dumbledore got us all special permission to visit Hogsmeade.

Yes, I should have been celebrating. Ironically, it was the great man himself who stopped my plans in their tracks. After the exam, McGonagall approached me and said Dumbledore wanted to speak with me. I had a horrible feeling he knew about me. About Tom. So I tried to charm McGonagall into getting me out of the meeting. For the first time in a year, it failed to work. All I got for my efforts was confirmation that we were going to Hogsmeade.

I started at the echo of footsteps from the steep spiral staircase behind me. Instinctively closing off my racing mind, I made sure my wand was within reach. Cautiously, I allowed an exploratory strand of Legilimency to creep towards the door. I closed my eyes in concentration; it was still difficult to perform this without eye contact. It was Tracey.

Sure enough, I felt warm arms wrap around my neck like a scarf. "Hey, Harry," she whispered quietly.

"You're up late," I replied softly. I was still staring up at the moon, thinking about the meeting with Dumbledore.

"Hypocrite," she said as she nestled her head on my small, skinny shoulders. I always became self-conscious when she did that and she knew it.

We stayed in that position for a minute or so, each lost in our thoughts. "You alright?" she said finally.

"Yeah," I lied. I had no idea why I was lying to her. Actually, I did. I hated sharing my secrets more than anything else. Just as Tom did.

"Why do you do this?" she said quietly, almost to herself.

"Do what?"

"This. You're like a sealed bottle, you never let anyone in. Why do you do it?"

I smiled despite myself. She was always smart. "I thought that's what you hated in a man?" I retorted slyly, subtly changing the direction of the conversation. "I thought you once said your nightmare would be to date an idiot Gryffindor who wore his heart on his sleeve, Miss. Davis?"

"It is, but you can't have too much of a good –"

She was cut off by the sound of footsteps, and it sounded like more than one person. I swore, dived on top of Tracey and pulled my invisibility cloak over us. We lay still and I pricked me ears, straining to hear the heated voices. It did not help that I was in a very suggestive position and could feel Tracey's hot breath on my face.

"How many times do I have to tell you? The Astronomy Tower is a hotspot. It doesn't matter how many steps you have to climb –" I recognised the voice as Hermione's. I could probably guess who was with her by the shrill tone of agitation she had adopted.

"It's a given that we'll find a couple in here, anyway. Why don't we just leave them in peace and go back to the common room?" As I had suspected, it was Ron.

"Because _we are prefects_," snapped Hermione.

"We just finished the OWLs, for Merlin's sake. We should be celebrating!"

"You say that as though you worked hard for it."

"Sorry if I'm not too keen in joining you and Harry in your library parties. The common room was a great place to revise _and_ we didn't have that old bat breathing down our necks."

"I'll have you know Madame Pince gave us a really wide berth. She even let us talk quietly whenever we wanted to _and_ Harry's allowed in the restricted section whenever he likes. If you call that breathing down our necks…"

"Oh, I forgot he gets special treatment," said Ron somewhat bitterly, causing Tracey to shake with silent laughter. If I was honest with myself, losing Ron's friendship had hit me hard at first. I was thankful to have friends like Hermione and Terry around me; I hardly ever regretted not patching up the relationship.

"Well, maybe if you worked as hard as him and got good grades, the teachers would like you too." I felt a rush of affection for Hermione. She was so loyal, so loving and reliable that I couldn't imagine what I would have done without her. It was through her and her library sessions, after all, that I got to know Terry.

"Sorry if I'm not in the same league as the great Harry Potter. Maybe you should get McGonagall to appeal against him not getting prefect. Actually, forget it, I'm sure she's tried already." I did not doubt that. While it did not really faze me, I was a little puzzled as to why Ron made prefect when he really was useless at it. Even Neville would have been a better choice.

"I really wish you wouldn't get jealous," said Hermione waspishly. "Maybe you'd still be friends if you weren't so –"

"Jealous?" said Ron, his voice an octave higher than usual. "Jealous of what? Hanging around with a bunch of Death Eaters and going out with an ugly Slytherin whose dad probably murdered kids in their sleep?" I felt Tracey stiffen beside me.

"How dare you, Ron!" snapped Hermione furiously. "How dare you! If you think Blaise, Terry and Daphne are Death Eaters you really are more stupid than you look, and that's saying something." I wished she would stop, I was finding it difficult to suppress the laughter. "This is so rich coming for someone whose friends are Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan. And Tracey? She's one of the smartest girls in the school, you blind bigot! And she's a half-blood!" I could almost feel Tracey's glare. "You know what, Harry's right. It's people like you, Ronald, who let these stupid prejudices stay strong a thousand years after they started."

"You can't –"

"You know what? I'm going to finish this patrol on my own. And tomorrow I'm going to ask for a different partner. I'm tired of defending you and then having to put up with a whole night of bickering. I honestly thought you'd get used to the idea of Harry not being part of your immature circle of friends, but I guess I overestimated you."

I felt very proud of her as her footsteps, loud at first, grew more distant. I had always been worried that she would object to the changes that I was now sure Tom Riddle's memories were subjecting me to. I honestly thought she would have chosen to associate with Ron rather than me but, in fairness, Ron had dug his own grave. He knew she wasn't keen on Dean and Seamus, but refused to open his eyes and co-operate. Ron's footsteps followed hers after a small delay.

It was not as if I had shunned the Gryffindors in my year. I was patient with them when my instincts told me they were worthless. Most of my free time was spent in the library so naturally I had more interaction with the members of other houses, particularly Terry. It was through Terry that I had met Tracey. Daphne and Blaise were not exactly good friends but we were on pleasant terms.

I tore myself from my musings and removed the cloak. Gingerly getting up, I resumed my sitting position. Tracey merely shuffled a little and rested her head in my lap. I ran my hands through her dark curls. Though I would never admit it, the feel of her sleek, warm hair on the touch always lulled me into a tranquil state of thought.

I thought back to the end of last year, when I had finally asked Tracey out on a date after almost two years of wavering. It was after Arithmancy and she was walking with her friend Blaise Zabini. I appreciated then how difficult it was to get some privacy but luckily, Blaise knew what I was intending to do and led her into an empty corridor for me, for which I was thankful. I swallowed my nerves and asked her before I bottled it.

We didn't exactly start off on a high. I remember with a pang the morning, about a week after being back at the Dursleys, that I got the letter. The letter telling me that Moody had died. He had a heart failure, Dumbledore had said, and the healers at St. Mungo's were unable to revive him. I tried not to think about it – he had been a friend of my grandfather's and a fantastic tutor. The funeral was quiet, formal and polite – everything Moody wasn't. I remembered with a smile how he yelled at me whenever I went wrong. His death had shaken me, there was no doubt about it.

I stared up at the high, curved ceiling and thought back on this year, which seemed to have raced by. I spent futile hours researching anything I could on horcruxes and, more fervently, the Knights of Walpurgis. A small part of me, though I found the thought repugnant, was crushed by Moody's death because the secret of the Knights seemed to have died with him. Tom's memories had run themselves into a trickle, but offered no insight into the Maximus-Riddle relationship. All I seemed to get was exploration of the Chamber and endless hours of training. I had to admit that the latter had helped me immensely; the build-up of my Occlumency and Legilimency skills especially.

"Something's on your mind," whispered Tracey. I stayed silent but frowned slightly.

Sometimes, it irritated me greatly when someone read my body language. But of course, this was no ordinary matter. The prophecy. I could not stop thinking about it. I understood why Dumbledore had left it until a few hours earlier before explaining it to me. I understood why he did not train me from the day I entered the school. I, more than anyone, knew the absurdity and futility of attempting to train an adolescent to even scratch Voldemort. What I did not understand was why Dumbledore was not telling me the full truth. I could feel it. It had nothing to do with Legilimency. I had not heard the full prophecy.

"Do you want to tell me?" asked Tracey hesitantly.

I sighed. "No," I said softly, "I can't."

"Alright," she replied. "I'm here when you're ready." I smiled. This is why I liked her. She was smart, she picked her battles.

I sat there thinking of what I should do. The objective was clear: I had to find the full contents of the prophecy. Only then could I move forward. But how? I thought of anything Riddle might have known, but it was useless. I could only access his information unconsciously, that much I knew. Even with Occlumency it was futile.

There was only one place in Hogwarts I could find out what I wanted. The library. It could not be that only Dumbledore knew the prophecy, surely the Ministry held records of some sort. I grimaced in frustration. Why did Dumbledore not trust me?

Decided on my plan of action for tomorrow, I said, "should we head back?" I got no response.

"Tracey?" I looked down and found she was sleeping soundly. The rays of the moon gave her pale skin an almost ghostly aura. She was even pettier when asleep, the glimmering light surrounded an air innocence around her sleeping form. I inclined my head and kissed her forehead.

Finding myself suddenly completely exhausted, I snuggled beside her and flung the invisibility cloak over us once more.

Someone was shaking me. I groaned. My back was killing me and I remembered that we had fallen asleep on the cold, hard floor of the Astronomy Tower. To add injury to more injury, my nose stung as my glasses had dug into it overnight.

"Morning," I mumbled as a bleary-eyed Tracey came into view. While it looked as though she had freshened up, the bags under her eyes gave the impression that she hardly slept all night. "What's wrong?"

"Oh nothing," she replied. Lie. "Let's go down to breakfast."

I gave her an appraising look before struggling to my feet. The bones in my back creaked like an old door. I tapped it with my wand and the pain was gone. Hand in hand, we made our way to the Great Hall.

"Harry," she said quietly as they got to the top of the stairs leading into the Entrance Hall, "who's Tom Riddle?" My heart froze. I almost wanted to hit myself - I did not put any silencing charms around me.

"Just a Muggle friend," I lied. Her eyebrows raised slightly, a sign that she did not believe me.

"I thought you said you had no Muggle friends," she said as we walked into the Great Hall.

"All except one," I said, rapidly thinking of a back-story for this fake Tom. The key to a good lie was to base it on truth. "Yeah, Tom's what kept me sane at Privet Drive, he's an orphan too – lives in a orp- care home."

"I see."

"Are you coming to the Gryffindor table?" I asked, steering the subject away from murky waters.

"Are you coming to the Slytherin table?" she replied with a smirk.

"Point proven, meet me at the library after breakfast," I said, giving her a quick kiss.

I made my way to the Gryffindor Table, ignoring the disapproving glares from Dean and Lavender. My relationship with Tracey had been going on for a year and, although they no longer thought I was a Death Eater, they could not bring themselves to talk to me. Not that I missed the riveting conversations about the opposite sex and homework.

I could understand it, though. Tracey's father _had_ been a Death Eater, that much I knew. He was certainly a highly ranked one at that. She was very closed about her family so I had to do a good deal of research. I found out that her mother was a Muggleborn who had had an affair with her father. I found out that her mother gained protection from Dumbledore when her father found out. Thanks to him, there was a joint custody agreement. I doubt any other student but Tracey and I knew this. The Slytherins assumed she lived with her father and she did little to quell these rumours.

I sat opposite Hermione, who had a book propped up beside her cereal. "Morning," I said as I poured myself some cereal of my own.

"Oh, morning." She looked up from her book and was wearing a small frown. "Where were you last night? Neville said you didn't come back to the dorm."

"Yeah, I fell asleep in the library," I said without hesitation.

"I was worried. I hadn't seen you since Dumbledore asked to see you. What did he want, anyway?" She put her book down, a sign that she was focussing all her attention on me.

"There's an Unspeakables apprenticeship scheme the Ministry's funding," I said dismissively. "They wanted the top students of each year from Fifth upwards. Dumbledore said he thought I'd be interested." It took all my self control to stop me from laughing; I knew Hermione would be affronted at being passed over. "Don't worry, I'm sure he only thought of me since he doesn't want me to divert my attention towards the Dark Arts."

Then it hit me.

The Ministry. The Hall of the Prophecies. Riddle knew something about it. I racked my brain as I tried to get more details but the more information I tried to salvage, the blurrier it became. I cursed.

Hermione looked as if she was in mid-sentence and I realised that I had tuned her out while trying to find out about the Hall of Prophecies. "Sorry," I said, recomposing myself, "I need to go to the library."

With that, I left my half-eaten cereal and Hermione in my wake. A plan was slowly forming as I practically ran to the fourth floor. After taking the stone spiral staircase leading into the library two steps at a time, I made straight for the Ministry section, which smelt as though it had not been used in hundreds of years. The musty smell intensified as I took a book called 'Ministry of Magic: A History' from its shelf. I coughed as I was buffeted by a cloud of dust.

I took a seat at a nearby table and flicked straight to the index. The 'Department of Mysteries' section was near the end of the hefty tome. I skim read the three pages. There was a good deal about its founder and reasons for its inception but nothing on its location or even the different departments. I growled as I saw one particular paragraph:

'_Mercutio Lestrange passed the Information Act in 1786, which included the interdiction of any information concerning the Department from leaving the confines of the Department. Only brief histories and career routes into the Department are permitted under the Act and even these must pass through the Head of the Department. In 1876, Minister Abbot passed legislation legalising the use of the Unforgivables on any who succeed in infiltrating the Department.'_

"Shit," I mumbled.

"Trouble?" I looked up from the book and found Terry Boot lounging on a chair opposite the table. His straight brown hair fell awkwardly around his rather large head. He had the air of one far more serious and mature than he actually was.

"No, I'm just researching the Department of Mysteries." I considered telling him the truth but thought better of it. The plan was becoming clearer in my mind and I knew he would want to follow me. No, I was doing this alone.

"I'm going to take a wild guess and say you're not having much luck," he said lightly. "Is there any particular reason why you're researching it?" I fed him the same lies I had done to Hermione. He did a slightly better job hiding his disappointment.

I realised I did not have as much time as I would have liked. Hogsmeade was my only window of opportunity. There was no other way. It meant there was no time for meticulous planning.

"Hey, Terry," greeted Tracey. She took the seat beside me and was closely followed by Hermione. "What are we doing in the library? Let's go to Hogsmeade!"

"You never said a truer word," smirked Terry. Even Hermione agreed that we needed some sort of reward for our hard work during the OWLs.

"Alright," I said, feigning defeat. We stood up and left, but not before I returned the book to its place on the shelf.

"What did you want from the library?" asked Tracey. I sighed, thinking I would have to repeat the story a third time. Luckily, Terry stepped in and explained. I was relieved since it meant I had not technically lied to her.

As we stepped out onto the grounds, we were met by glorious sunshine. The thunderstorms that had mellowed the atmosphere of the student body during the exam period had all but vanished. Wispy streaks of clouds were dotted irregularly across the sky and even the Forbidden Forest seemed less foreboding somehow. A swarm of students were making their way to the gates, the air buzzing with conversation.

"So when are you going to this Department of Mysteries thing?" asked Tracey as they passed a sour looking Filch.

"As soon as I'm finished with Hogsmeade," I said airily.

"That soon?" said Hermione, her bushy eyebrows higher than usual.

"Yeah, Dumbledore said that he wanted it to be kept a secret from the students as it might cause some jealousy. He said some would think he was favouring me." Tracey snorted and both Hermione and Terry smiled. They knew perfectly well of the awkward relationship between the headmaster and I. It seemed they did not notice that I had not actually answered Hermione's question.

"Where should we go?" asked Terry as Dervish and Bangs loomed to our left.

"The Three Broomsticks, like we always do?" said Tracey bitingly. Hermione laughed as Terry placed his wand at his temple and mimicked his death. I was too preoccupied to laugh.

"You alright, Harry?" asked Hermione, looking at me worriedly.

"Yeah," I said. "It seems like a waste to sit inside with about a hundred other sweating people on a day like this. Why don't we head out and look for a place to sit in the sun?"

I saw Terry send Tracey a questioning look from the corner of my eye. Terry and I loved going to the Three Broomsticks and trying to see how many free drinks we could get out of Rosmerta. I reprimanded myself; I should have brought the suggestion out of someone else. They agreed with my idea nonetheless – I knew they would.

We passed the crowd of students milling in and around Zonkos and then a second crowd around Honeydukes. I always wondered how the shops made money when the students weren't around. Finally, the Three Broomsticks came into sight. Instead of following the steady flow of students, we turned off into a less worn road to the right. I pointed out a spot some yards from the Shrieking Shack.

I took a seat on the remarkably cool grass. There was the distinct smell of freshly mowed lawn. Tracey placed her head on my chest and, jokingly, Terry did on the other one. I joined Tracey and Hermione in their laughter, but only weakly.

"Too skinny for me, thanks," said Terry in jest and draped himself nonchalantly over the grass. "Hey Hermione, my chest is free if you want it."

"No thanks," she said, giggling, "this pile of dung seems more enticing."

"You win some, you lose some," said Terry and the girls laughed heartily. "Just thought you'd like a chest as barrel-like as this." He thumped his chest.

"Depends on your definition of what a barrel is," I said distantly.

"Glass houses, my boy," said Terry in his best impersonation of Dumbledore. "Glass houses."

"He makes up for it in other areas," said Tracey suggestively as she stroked my chest. She knew it soothed me.

"Well if it isn't Potty, two blood-traitors and a Mudblood." I lazily cast my eyes away from Tracey and to the pale face of Draco Malfoy. He was, of course, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle. I don't remember ever hearing them speak, I realised. Malfoy, on the other hand, seemed to prop up as soon as he had licked his wounds from our previous encounters.

"Ah, Malfoy," said Tracey coldly, "how is your father handling the…situation?"

"I could ask the same of you," hissed Malfoy, slowly turning red.

"Hang on," said Terry, feigning surprise, "Malfoy's dad has a situation to handle?"

"What sort of situation would that be?" asked Hermione, seemingly innocently.

"Shut up, Mudblood," snarled Malfoy, dragging me away from my thoughts, "you have your own problems to think of."

"Oh, I heard about this," I said coolly, twirling my wand between my fingers. It was so tempting to curse him for what he said. "Didn't it involve a Muggle woman?"

"I heard it wasn't even a woman," sneered Tracey. Malfoy seemed to have had enough and threw a bone-breaking hex at Tracey. I hid my glee; I had wanted to test my new wordless shield for ages. Sure enough, the curved reddish shield materialised and deflected the curse back at Malfoy. I was extremely satisfied as the purple spell curved in the air and hit Malfoy's arm.

Malfoy screamed in pain and ran for medical attention, giving me a look which promised pain. I smiled in return. Crabbe and Goyle stood dumbfounded for a moment. My theory that they were unable to function without Malfoy seemed to be proven. After eyeing my drawn wand and also those of the others, they decided to take off after Malfoy.

Once they were safely out of sight, Terry was the first to break into laughter and Hermione reluctantly followed suit. "Was that the shield charm you were practising?" asked Hermione after recovering from her giggles.

"Yeah, I'd say it worked quite well, wouldn't you?"

"What level of spells does it deflect?" asked Terry. "I suppose it doesn't exactly break down quickly given its shape."

"Practically everything except the top level spells, but it depends on the caster. It's curved so all it does is deflect the energy rather than trying to counteract it."

"When are you going to teach us it?" asked Tracey.

"Probably tonight," I replied. We had all agreed to teach each other any ingenious spells we stumbled across. Of course, I had to bend the rule slightly to keep the spells I had picked up from Riddle secret.

"Listen," I said, deciding to take the first steps of my plan, "when I go off to the Department of Mysteries, I need you to help me take a few precautions." All three bristled as I said this.

"Against whom?" said Hermione suspiciously.

"Dumbledore and anyone else he might send," I replied. "Hermione, you cover the dorm rooms." She nodded. With the OWLs having finished yesterday, she would have enough ammunition to distract most professors. "Tracey, make sure Malfoy doesn't get any smart ideas. Come to think of it, add Snape to that list as long as you _don't_ look him in the eyes. Terry, get word out to Fred and George Weasley what there's a bet that they can't pull off a major prank today at short notice." Both Hermione and Terry nodded in assent.

"How long for?" asked Terry.

"A few hours if you can," I said, "try not to disappoint me."

"Harry," said Hermione reproachfully, "where are you really going?" All eyes were suddenly on me and I sighed.

"I'm going to the Department of Mysteries," I said, not missing the look passed between Terry and Hermione, "without Dumbledore's permission."

"Are you out of your mind?" said Tracey. Her mouth was slightly ajar and she looked at me expectantly, as if I was suddenly going to tell her it was a joke.

"They're keeping something there that belongs to me," I said quietly.

"Harry," said Hermione, "I'm sure if you just _asked_ Dumbledore he'd –"

"No," I said quickly, "no way."

"Haven't you thought about all the protection?" said Hermione. "And in broad daylight as well! This is preposterous and rash, they could _kill_ you for Goodness' sake."

"I'd have more chance in broad daylight," I said firmly, "since they can't put major wards up against their own employees. Plus, nobody will expect it – I'd be hidden in plain sight."

Terry, who had been pensive throughout this, said, "you'll need some sort of back-up if you're going to storm into the Ministry."

"No," I said sharply, "I'm going to sneak in. Two people are more likely to get caught than one." I ran a hand through my hair in frustration. "Listen, if you really want to help me, make the distractions. I don't have much time left, so just help me out, okay?"

They all nodded, if somewhat reluctantly. "I'll need to go find Corner," said Terry, unenthusiastically getting up and stretching. "He's on good terms with Lee Jordan. You know what it's like, give it fifteen minutes and the Weasleys will be on it."

We sat quietly as Terry disappeared down the path and into the Three Broomsticks. Ideally, I had fifteen minutes before I could Disapparate. It would take at least five minutes to walk to an ideal apparition point. Give or take a few minutes, I had about half an hour before Dumbledore found out I was missing. Hopefully between them, Terry, Hermione and Tracey would buy me another half an hour. If Dumbledore took the bait.

I was frustrated at how shoddy the plan was, and I almost smiled thinking of what Riddle would make of it. I had no other choice, however. After Hogsmeade is over, I may as well tell Dumbledore where I'm going given the ridiculous speed at which he would know exactly where I was going and when I had left the school grounds. This was the only window of opportunity.

A caught a streak of blonde out of the corner of my eye. At first, I thought it may have been Malfoy. Upon closer inspection, I realised it was Daphne. She had short blonde hair, barely reaching her shoulders and crystal blue eyes. Being a childhood friend of Tracey's, I was forced to see a lot of her.

As usual, she completely ignored Hermione. "Potter, Tracey," she said with a nod.

"To what do we owe this pleasure?" I asked, bowing my head in mock politeness. I could not afford to let her get suspicious, which greeting her in any way less frivolous would.

"No time for crap, Potter," she said hurriedly. "Snape is after you after what you did to Malfoy. Just thought you'd like to know."

She turned on her heel and trotted towards the Three Broomsticks. I understood why she did this; she would become an outcast if her house members got wind of what she had just told me. "Tracey, Hermione, you know what to do." Tracey kissed me and they left together.

Snape had placed me in a dilemma. Either I left now with no eyewitnesses to counter any of Dumbledore's claims that I had sneaked off or I risked getting caught by Snape. It wasn't a choice.

I took a breath and Disapparated.

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	6. The Department of Mysteries

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me.

* * *

_Until I am measured_

_I am not known_

_Yet how you miss me_

_When I have flown_

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–**CHAPTER SIX –**

**The Department of Mysteries**

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I arrived beside a lift fashioned into the shape of a telephone box. The long and splendid hall was bustling with activity. Ministry officials and members of the wizarding public alike were walking in all directions. Some were queuing to have their wand checked at the security desk. Others were queuing up outside the various floo fires on either side of the hall. There were frequent pops signalling apparition and Disapparition. One thing was certain, everyone was minding their own business. It seemed as though the mentality of Muggle Londoners had over-spilled into the Ministry of Magic.

For a fraction of a second, I was torn between using invisibility or a disguise. It seemed unlikely that the Ministry would have wards against the latter. On top of that, the time of day made walking around invisible awkward, whereas a disguise would make sneaking around far easier.

Using the gleaming glass of the elevator as a mirror, I ran my wand over my face. I winced in pain as my nose lengthened, my lips thickened, my hair lengthened and turned auburn. I had to manipulate my hair to completely cover the scar. These slight changes combined to make me look like a completely different person. Finally, my school robes lost the Gryffindor badge and a silver lining snaked itself around the hem. I suddenly had the strange feeling that I was being watched. I searched up and down the hall for any suspicious behaviour but found none.

Dismissing it as over-attentiveness, I straightened up and walked purposefully towards the lift, my long nose slightly raised and decidedly awkward. I was a little awed at the splendour of the atrium. The highly polished floor was carpeted with dark wood and the sapphire blue ceiling was laden with gleaming gold symbols that kept moving and changing like some enormous heavenly noticeboard. I passed a group of golden statues halfway down the hall. Grouped around a tall wizard with his wand aloft were a witch, a centaur, a goblin and a house-elf. At the bottom of the pool, a smattering of silver sickles and bronze knuts were glinting up at me.

As I mingled with the throng of workers, I noticed how similar Ministry workers were to the average Muggle commuter. Some were reading the_Daily Prophet_; others were hastily finishing off sandwiches from breakfast. A few were carrying tottering piles of parchment and others carried battered briefcases. All were heading towards a set of golden gates at the end of the hall.

On the other side of the golden gates was a smaller hall containing at least twenty lifts. I headed for the one on the far right, hoping to avoid the crowds around the ones closest to the door. I waited at least five minutes for the lift sparking fears that it was not working. Just as I was about to try another one, it opened. Thankfully, it was empty. My luck was short lived when a sallow-skinned wizard with a mournful face joined me.

My irritation quickly transformed into joy as the man pressed the button for level nine: the Department of Mysteries. Staring at the floor while the lift lurched into motion, I sent out a very faint exploratory strand of Legilimency. The rigorously solid defences confirmed my suspicions: this man was an Unspeakable.

I concentrated all my willpower on my thirst to control this man. I needed to manipulate him for my own personal gains. I did not care for his well-being. I could not care less if it caused him pain. With these thoughts at the forefront of my mind, I rapidly brandished my wand and snarled, "_Imperio!"_

It seems he had expected this since he dodged and fired a sickly looking spell I didn't recognise. He must have noticed the Legilimency. I instantly threw up the curved shield, returning the curse back at its caster. Not expecting the shield so quickly, it struck him in the arm, severing it completely. His wand fell to the floor with his arm.

I was careful not to give away my rising feeling of revulsion as I summoned his wand. Blood began hurtling out of the remains of his arm like a crimson waterfall of lava. The man did not scream, however, though his watering eyes told the whole story. I supposed this is why they called them Unspeakables. Luckily, I was not after information.

"_Imperio!"_ I hissed and put as much power into it as I could muster. I was met by surprisingly weak resistance. I could feel my influence tugging at his mind. For a fleeting moment, it looked as though he would fight it, but the pain in his arm was distracting him. It took less than a second for me to overpower him completely.

I lazily cast a vanishing spell on the mess the blood had caused. I then minimised the bleeding with a rather shoddy healing charm. Finally, I cast an illusion charm on the area where his arm should have been. It would not do to have an armless route into the Department.

Just as I finished cleaning up, the lift lurched to a stop and a cool female voice said, "Department of Mysteries." The grilles slid open.

"You will take me to the Hall of Prophecies," I ordered the Unspeakable. "Will that be a problem?"

"Yes and no," he replied emotionlessly.

"Explain yourself."

"No, because my work is centred around –" His deadened eyes suddenly bulged and his mouth snapped shut.

"Why is there a problem?" I asked quickly, using eye contact to strengthen the Imperius Curse. "What protection is there that will prevent my entry?"

"There is a ward preventing the entry of those with ill intent," he gasped, as though being strangled. "It will render you unconscious."

My eyes narrowed. "Is it a mind ward or a body ward?" He was gasping for air and failed to respond. There was a familiar urge to torture him trying to entice me. If he writhed in pain, his tongue would loosen. Unconsciously, my wand raised but the Cruciatus Curse died on my lips; I came to my senses. "Mind or body? Answer me!"

"It is a Mind Ward," he replied throatily, clutching his neck with his remaining hand. I nodded in understanding. This made sense since knowledge of Occlumency outside of the Unspeakables was remarkably rare. Even Tom found it impossible to find anyone to teach him the art.

"What about your colleagues? Will they object to my accompaniment?"

"No," he said weakly, "we work in teams of four. We do not know any other colleague outside of this team, except the Head."

I decided to stop questioning him since his face was turning a sickly shade of violet. I did not want a corpse on my hands.

"Go now," I said forcefully. "You will act as if I am your colleague throughout."

We stepped out into the corridor where nothing was moving but the nearest torches, flickering as we passed. A black door loomed as we strode down the corridor. As the man approached it, the door swung open revealing a circular room. Everything here was black, including the floor and ceiling. The doors were set at regular intervals around the wall and the cool blue candles made the shimmering floor seem transparent to a sea of dark water.

There was no time to linger on the design as the handless door directly in front of us opened when the man approached it. There was a tremendous glare of light which I had to shield my eyes from. The room was extraordinarily narrow, particularly considering the grandeur of the rest of the Ministry building. To make matters worse, there were desks on either side, meaning we had to travel single file. Bizarrely, clocks were staring at me from every direction; be it from between bookcases or on the desks which ran the length of the room. The room was alive with ticking, like a miniscule army on their way to battle.

There were four wizards sitting around four different desks near the entrance to the room. None of them even spared us a glance as we walked past them. They merely prodded the watches and clocks on their desks and took notes. At the end of the room stood a towering crystal bell-jar on a desk. There were four more Unspeakables gathered around it, parchment floating behind them, quills ready to take down any dictations. They too failed to look up as we walked past, but instead continued to whisper unintelligible arguments.

Beyond the bell jar was only one door. I struggled to contain my excitement as it swung open.

"Take me to the prophecy concerning Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort," I ordered as the room came into view. The man stumbled - he was attempting to fight the curse. I poured more energy into the link.

The Hall of Prophecies was high as a church and full of nothing but towering shelves covered in small, dusty glass orbs. They glimmered dully in the light issuing from more candle-brackets at set intervals along the shelves. Like those in the circular room behind them, their flames were burning blue. The room was very cold. There was a faint ticking coming from the room with the clocks.

I squinted at the row closest to the door. Beneath the branch of blue-glowing candles protruding from it glimmered the silver figure fifty-three. I followed the man down the long alley of shelves, the further ends of which were in near-total darkness. There were glass orbs lined up along each shelf, below which were tiny, yellow labels. I assumed these were prophecies of times gone by. For a brief second, I wondered how on earth the Ministry monitored the creation of new prophecies. The ticking laboured on.

The man stopped abruptly outside a row labelled 'ninety-seven'. He walked a little way down the aisle before again coming to a halt. He raised his unhurt left arm and pointed out one of the dusty glass spheres with his bony fingers. I had to crane my neck to read the small yellow label affixed below the ball.

_S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D._

_Dark Lord_

_And (?)Harry Potter_

Greedily, I closed my fingers around the dusty ball's surface. I expected it to feel cold but it did not. In fact, it felt as though it had been lying in the sun for hours, as though the glow within was warming it. I lifted the glass ball from the shelf and stared at it. I could not believe it. I had done it. I was about to hear the whole prophecy. The ticking laboured on.

The man beside me coughed. I started and almost dropped the ball as the sound travelled down the aisle. "Go about your usual duties," I said quietly, placing the orb back in its position. I drew my wand and whispered, "_Obliviate!"_ His cold eyes glazed over. "You woke up extremely sick this morning but the illness worsened when you forced yourself to come into work. You will go straight to your Head and request sick leave. Your arm was lost in a duel with a Death Eater who wished to discover your secrets. You will not reveal this until tomorrow morning. Go now." I gave him back his wand. Without another word, he disappeared into the darkness. The ticking seemed to grow louder.

I picked the orb up again and stared into its depths. A shiver coursed through me which had nothing to do with the sudden temperature difference between my hands and the rest of my body. There was a reddish liquid glow writhing serenely within the ball. Suddenly, I realised I had no idea what to do with the prophecy.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

"Open," I said, as commandingly as I could manage. Nothing but the ticking.

"Reveal your secrets," I murmured, prodding it with my wand. Still nothing.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

A few minutes passed as I tried various methods of activating the prophecy, both magical and Muggle. It seemed that there was no way of opening it. The reddish glow danced almost mockingly.

In desperation, I tried an idea which I had contemplated for a while but refused to accept. The sides were perfectly smooth and it was perfectly sealed from all magic. The only option open seemed the most simple. Crack it open. However, I knew that if it failed to work, the prophecy would be lost forever.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I realised that my presence would not go unnoticed forever. Eventually, either Dumbledore or the Ministry will get to me. It was now or never.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

My pulse raced and my breath shook slightly as I exhaled heavily. I outstretched the arm carrying the prophecy. The crimson cloud thickened and flared.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I stared into the depths of the prophecy in wonder. Did I really want to destroy such a beautiful object? Doubts sprung to mind. Why did I want to hear the prophecy so badly?

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Maybe I did not want to destroy the prophecy. Maybe my curiosity was unwarranted. Maybe I should just hand the prophecy into the Head of the department and confess. They wouldn't throw me in Azkaban.

I heard footsteps somewhere in the distance, outside the bubble of doubt I had somehow managed to become trapped in. That was enough of a catalyst. I tilted my hand and slowly, almost unwillingly, the orb slipped out of the comfort of my grasp and began to fall. I watched its progress as the reddish glow flickered madly and swirled so violently it became a blur of red mist.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

The prophecy hit the floor with a resounding thud, almost as if it was made of lead. Just as I thought the orb had some sort of protective magic, it split down the centre and the two halves fell apart like a cracked egg.

A pearly white figure with hugely magnified eyes rose into the air. She looked vaguely familiar but I could not quite place her. The ghostly image stopped as her feet became level with my shoulders. I craned my neck and squinted up at her as she spoke.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not –"_

A high pitch squeal suddenly attacked my ear drums. The cry of surprise was caught in my throat and I instinctively covered my ears. My stomach sunk as I realised that the figure had finished speaking and dissolved into nothingness. The shrieking stopped.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I could feel the rage bubbling inside of me. I had to close my eyes and take deep breaths. I could not clear my mind. The ghostly woman and the last unheard lines were burned into it. I was right. Dumbledore had manipulated the prophecy.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

I looked down at my hand and saw that my wand was drawn. My vision was beginning to cloud and a vaguely familiar light threatened to blind me. No! I had to keep in control. I had to stay calm. My vision slowly sharpened again.

"It seems as though the laws of the government have been lost on you, Potter."

I slowly turned to face the owner of the sneering voice. The dim light illuminated a hooked nose, sallow skin and black, oily hair curtained around a thin face. It was Snape. Snape had destroyed my last hope of hearing the prophecy. Snape had shredded my final opportunity.

"You shouldn't have done that," I snarled, voice shaking with fury.

"You must leave now," hissed Snape dangerously, "unless you cling to a foolish belief that the Ministry will treat you with the same blind awe as your professors." His beetle-black eyes bore into me and I saw the urgency.

"Who told you?" I said, my voice dropping dangerously.

Snape raised an eyebrow and ran a thumb up and down his wand. "There is a time and place for accusations, Potter, but it is not here. Unless you wish to rot in Azkaban, as you thoroughly deserve, then you must leave _now_."

I took a step closer to him. "Who told you?" I repeated. I caught something in Potion Master's glinting eyes. Was it fear?

"You clearly –"

"TELL THE TRUTH!" I yelled. "WHO TOLD YOU?" Close your mind, I thought, close your mind. Keep in control. I had to keep in control. Snape's eyes narrowed and he raised his wand slightly.

"It was your fool of a friend," he intoned, milking the enjoyment out of every last word, "Davis." I maintained eye contact with him, trying to determine the truth. Instead I found dark tunnels and dead ends.

"Liar!" I said angrily. I took a step closer to him.

"Your friend's mind is an open book. I saw the truth instantly. You are not as subtle as you think, Potter, now come with me!" His eyes kept darting towards the entrance.

"I'm not leaving here until I hear the full prophecy," I said, my wand shaking uncontrollably. "You can ease that process."

"Your father paid for his stupidity with his life," said Snape softly, "it seems you are keen to follow in his footsteps."

The familiar delirious white light clouded my vision. It was venomous and unstoppable.

I saw the movement of a boy about my age. It was too blurry to distinguish. My head spun and I heard some words which sounded jumbled, like a broken tape. The boy moved quickly as if he were in a film I was fast-forwarding. He moved faster and faster and the white light grew stronger and stronger, threatening to consume him.

"No!" I snarled. Not again. I was not going to let this happen. I poured all my energy into clearing my mind. My vision was slowly starting to return.

I fell to my knees and winced as the pain of the contact ran through me like an electrical current. My breathing was heavy. Why did this happen to me? I could not blame this one on Riddle. There was no way he could possess me.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

But he possessed Ginny.

My blood ran cold as I tried to expel this thought from my mind. The very thought of being controlled by Riddle was revolting. The very notion that I was not in charge of my body was too frightening a concept to digest. I had always been and always will be Harry Potter, every second and every breath of my life.

Snape. Where was he?

Gingerly, I rose to my feet. My legs were shaking, as if I had not been fed for many days. I was suddenly conscious of how cold the Hall was.

The search for Snape was not a long one. I found him lying very still beside the sign for row forty-five. My breath caught in my throat. Had I killed him? While I hated him with a vengeance, I did not ever wish him dead. And what if the Aurors found me here with a dead man and a destroyed prophecy? There would be no salvation. There would be a cell with my name written on it.

His appearance did nothing to sate my alarm. Blood trickled from a wound near his temple and his usually straight hair was plastered wildly across his sallow face, the grease almost acting as glue. There was more blood around his mouth, which made him seem more like a vampire than usual. His robes were torn but hid any other injuries he may have incurred.

Don't panic, I thought, just don't panic. I knelt down and took his wrist. His arms were surprisingly cold, even with the chilly air around us. Thankfully, there was a faint pulse. My relief was short-lived.

The sound of a wailing cat, distant at first, drowned the ticking and flooded the Hall of Prophecies like a tsunami. Horrified, my eyes flitted up and down the long, sweeping hall. There would be nowhere to run or hide here. Eventually, they would find me. I had no choice but to go back into the room with the clocks and escape the Department. I only hoped that the alarm was concentrated on the Department of Mysteries. I had a feeling that the Minister would want nobody knowing that the most secure branch of the Ministry had been breached.

I had no choice but to revive Snape. There was no chance of escape with a body being lugged behind me. _Enervate_, I thought.

The Potions Master twitched and coughed out more blood. His head turned slowly to face me, hate etched into every line of his face. "You will pay for that," he whispered before breaking out into a fit of bloody coughs. I watched him struggle to get to his feet. Time was ticking.

He flinched as I turned my wand on him. It seemed as though he had lost his own. I cast the only few healing charms I knew, and even those were very temporary. The blood stopped, the bruises lessened and Snape managed to rise to his feet. I summoned his wand. It appeared from the darkness at the far end of the aisle closest to us.

"We need to escape _now_," I said, shouting over the din of the alarm. "You can try and kill me later." Snape looked as though he wished nothing more than to blast me into a new dimension. But there was something else in his expression. An expression I had never seen him wear in the five years I knew of him: confusion.

There was no time for contemplation. I handed him his wand and ran towards the door I had initially come through. Thankfully, it swung open as I approached. I spared a glance over my shoulder. Snape ran with a slight limp but did a good job hiding the pain.

"Where do the anti-apparition wards end?" I asked quickly.

"The atrium," he said shortly. I cursed loudly. This was a taller order than I had anticipated.

The room with the clocks was deserted.

Snape tapped the walls and murmured something. He placed his ear against the wall and his eyes narrowed. I began to speak but he shut me up with a gesture. It took a great amount of self-control to obey this order.

"They have closed off floors nine, eight and seven," he said coldly. "A fine predicament you have landed us in, Potter."

"Where are the Aurors?" I said, ignoring his self-satisfied look at having insulted me.

"Most probably waiting for us outside," drawled Snape. "If you are lucky, they may not immediately order the Kiss."

Why were they waiting outside? Why not secure the area? Then it hit me. The mind wards were keeping them at bay. "Do the Mind Wards stretch into the room with all the doors?"

Snape stared at me curiously, tracing his mouth with a finger. "No," he said, "there is nothing to hide there." I almost laughed. I had a plan; one which I was sure would not go wrong. There was only one thing I was hoping for.

"What potions do you have on you?" I asked quickly. Snape stared at me expressionlessly. I once again tried to test his Occlumency. There was nothing but never-ending dark tunnels.

"None," he hissed. He very deliberately moved his finger from his mouth back by his side.

"Do you want to end up in Azkaban in the cell next to me?" I said angrily. "They're not going to let you off because Dumbledore sent you. You illegally broke into the Department of Mysteries as well and there's no case that can stop you getting a minimum of ten years as well." Snape appeared mildly surprised by something, as though he had not contemplated Azkaban. Or perhaps something else.

"Hollow words, Potter," he sneered, but it lacked venom.

"I'd hate to be you when Dumbledore finds out you helped send me to Azkaban," I said forcefully, pushing my advantage. "So tell me this: do you have Polyjuice Potion on you or not?" Snape's lips thinned and he bore his eyes into mine. I could feel the familiar twinge of Legilimency. I brought forward memories of Tracey. How we kissed each other. How we touched each other playfully. How we touched each other intimately. Finally, I brought up the memory of her naked body falling onto my bed. In any other instance, I would have laughed at the look on Snape's face and the speed of his withdrawal.

"I have the potion," he said softly, recovering quickly. "Unlike some, I came prepared." His hand disappeared into the depths of the jet black robes he always wore. When it returned, it was clutching two small vials of the sickly-looking potion I recognised as Polyjuice.

With a smile, I tapped my head with my wand and felt the familiar feeling of a freezing cold egg cracking on top of it, the yolk oozing down my body. Snape's lip curled.

"Bravo, Potter," he said sarcastically. "The Ministry would never have thought about warding against basic illusion spells." I grabbed the two vials of potion from his grasp.

"Follow me," I said. "Illusion yourself and keep quiet."

"What are you doing, you fool?" snapped Snape as I made for the far end of the time room.

"We are going to get the leader of the Auror team and one other to come to us," I whispered. Snape looked as though he had sucked on a particularly sour sweet before disillusioning himself.

"This defines insanity and stupidity, Potter. I refuse to allow myself –" I silenced him with my best impression of Riddle. If he had followed Riddle back then, perhaps Snape would follow him now.

"Follow my lead," I said, allowing my voice to drop and grow colder.

I edged towards the door of the Time Room, which stood ajar. I focussed on stopping the sound of my footfall from alerting the Aurors of our presence. I suddenly felt conscious of the heaviness of my breathing. It would surely alert them. Snape was, as expected, silent as a fox.

The circular room was more or less the same as I had left it. The candles continued to burn a cool blue and the floor was still shimmering like black water. I had to be extra careful not to make a sound. The black door directly opposite was slightly ajar. The alarm was not ringing here and I could hear a babble of voices.

"How long until they come out?" The voice was a woman's, rather high pitched and troubled.

"How am I supposed to know? Just keep your vigilance." This one was far more confident, it was undoubtedly a man.

"Why don't we just go in there and corner them?" asked someone else. It was another wizard.

"Why doesn't everyone just walk in and out of there whenever they please?" snapped the first man.

"Then how did they –"

"We'll find that out during the interrogation. Until then keep your eyes open and your mouth shut." I peeked my head around the door. There were five Aurors in total, two blocking the grille to the lift, another two blocking the passage to the right and a tall, broad-chested man with sandy hair and a mean look about him pacing up and down in the centre.

I raised my wand and aimed carefully. It was difficult since he kept moving. I stood, crouched slightly, ready for my moment to pounce. Another inane question was fired at him and I whispered, "_Imperio!_" He stopped in mid-sentence. I found far less resistance than with the Unspeakable. I wondered why they did not train the Aurors as rigorously as the Unspeakables – magical security was just as important as magical development.

I had never tried to work the Imperius curse without speaking loudly. This was not the ideal situation to learn – on the second ever human I had tried it on. Despite this, I willed him to bring up the idea of checking that the rotating room was safe. It seemed not to work.

"Come to the rotating room," I whispered as loudly as I dared. "Bring one person with you." I closed my eyes and poured more energy into the spell than I had ever attempted previously. Again, it did not work. I felt my face heating up and could practically feel Snape's victorious stare.

"Lamentable, Potter," he said in a harsh whisper. "Watch and learn. _Imperio!"_

I felt the rush of the spell pass overhead, as if a great bird was diving for a distant prey. The Auror stiffened almost instantly. I felt a little irritated that Snape had managed the curse on his first try but I had not, even when whispering. I buried the feeling and stood very still, watching helplessly as the events unfolded.

"Batten, come with me," said the Auror in command. The other Aurors did not manage to hide their expressions of surprise.

"But sir…" began one of the auors guarding the lift.

"Don't argue, Batten," snapped the Auror coldly. "We will scope out the very next room. The rest of you will wait behind. Follow me, son, and keep your vigilance!" The two men slowly crept straight towards me, their wands out and their eyes narrowed. Snape directed the Auror and therefore his subordinate with some accuracy. Once they were out of sight of the Aurors guarding the exits, I stunned them both in quick succession.

"Get the hair of that one," I murmured while cancelling the disillusion spell. I plucked two sandy strands of hair from the leader and dropped it into one of the vials. I handed the other to Snape, who looked as smug as I imagined he would be.

"There is unique talent required to cast the Imperius Curse," he sneered, taking the vial. "Not all have the necessary…potency to cast it." I sent him a cold stare then downed the sickly yellow potion. Snape followed suit. The familiar but uncomfortable feeling of my features changing was present only for a moment.

Snape shed at least a decade in age and now sported the short black hair of the other Auror. The heavily freckled face was contorted with disgust. He cast a Disillusionment Charm on both Aurors then nodded towards the door.

"Hurry up and leave, Potter," he snarled, but the shaky, nasal voice dissipated all venom.

I hurried through the dimly lit corridor in silence. Snape seemed to have decided that it was best not to speak in order to avoid ridicule. The candles flickered as we passed, casting shimmering shadows onto the dark walls. The Aurors who were left appeared less sure of themselves without my presence. As soon as I stepped into the hallway, they straightened up, their wands by their sides.

"Anything to report, sir?" asked a black, bald man with a deep, slow voice and a single gold hooped earring.

"Nothing," I said in the same tone of voice the Auror had used minutes earlier. "It looks like they might be hatching a plan."

"What should we do about it, sir?" he asked. I used some basic Legilimency to find his name and those of his seniors.

"I am going to take Batten here with me and report to Auror Scrimgeour," I said authoritatively. "You're in charge here in the meantime, Shacklebolt. If anything gets through that door, send stunners at it immediately. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," said Shacklebolt.

I strutted to the lift and the Aurors guarding it almost jumped out of the way. The grille opened and admitted me and Snape into the elevator. I felt a growing sense of relief wash over me as we ascended. We made it.

"The Atrium," said the cool female voice as the lift shuddered to a stop.

"Quickly, Potter," snapped Snape. I realised that it was only a matter of time before they discovered the Aurors and came after as. The golden gate was a blur as we passed them.

A red stunner passed over my head. I spared a glance over my shoulder and saw at least a dozen Aurors coming out of various lifts. I winced and constructed a rushed Protego Shield.

"Let's apparate out of here now," I said quickly.

"No, they will trace us within seconds you blithering fool," snarled Snape as we passed the fountain. "We will floo."

Snape veered to the left as I sent as many stunners over my shoulder as I could manage. A bottle green curse arced towards Snape. Thinking quickly, I summoned a nearby torch to block it. As I did so, a powerful rush of wind passed my ear and collided into the wall near a fireplace, sending a shower of mahogany splinters in all directions.

"APPREHEND THEM!" screamed a voice. "APPREHEND THEM, I SAY!"

I sent up another hurried shield as a barrage of spells rained down on us. My lungs felt as though they would burst at any second. I saw Snape standing in the green fire, waiting for me to jump in.

"STOP THEM!"

I sent one last stunner over my shoulder before jumping into the fire.

"Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts."

I took one last glance at the Aurors stampeding towards us, firing spells as they did so before they swirled out of sight.


	7. Snape's Suspicions

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle : Time.

* * *

_The beginning of eternity_

_The end of time and space_

_The beginning of every end,_

_And the end of every place_

* * *

– **CHAPTER SEVEN –**

**Snape's Suspicions**

* * *

I rolled out of the Headmaster's fireplace and landed on my backside unceremoniously. To make matters worse, Snape walked out as if he hadn't been whirling through the floo system at high speeds.

"Ah, Professor Snape, Harry, so glad you could join me," said Dumbledore. I grumbled disconcertedly and hauled myself to my feet. Apparently Dumbledore could see through Polyjuice. I breathed heavily, quenching my body's thirst for oxygen.

The headmaster appeared inexorably calm as ever. The tips of his fingers joined to form a bridge upon which his wizened chin was resting. There were two wooden chairs opposite his desk, which seemed to be screaming for relief from the cover of parchment. Snape took the chair to left and shuffled it away from the other. I took the remaining chair and returned the favour.

"You may want to secure the castle," I said. I blinked as I realised that the Polyjuice still had not worn out and my voice was therefore still quite deep. "There's a small army of Aurors on our backs."

Dumbledore merely smiled serenely. "Oh, I have a feeling Miss. Hufflepuff has done our jobs for us." I was a little aggravated at how lightly Dumbledore was taking this, almost as though we were discussing our favourite bands over tea.

"Dumbledore," said Snape, unable to contain himself. I found it difficult to contain my laughter at the ludicrously nasal tone. It seemed Dumbledore too found the situation amusing, his blue eyes danced merrily behind his half-moon spectacles. "This boy deserves expulsion at the very least. He abused your undeserved generosity, attacked a student, used various others…" Dumbledore held a hand up to silence Snape.

"I am well aware of the sequence of events within school grounds. I would appreciate if Harry recounted the exploits at the Ministry himself." He smiled encouragingly at me, though I could feel his unease.

I considered refusing to answer his questions, but what would I possibly gain? Lying was an option but even with my strongest Occlumency shields, I had a feeling Dumbledore would see right through me. On top of that, I would be contradicted by Snape constantly and he would very easily prove I was lying. I had a feeling he had a vial of Veritaserum somewhere in the depths of his robes. The only option was the truth. But would it be the blunt truth? There was always the possibility that Dumbledore would expel me when he found out the goal of my mission. Then again, he would not want me spouting the prophecy to the _Daily Prophet_. No, he had no option but to keep me at Hogwarts. As much as most lessons bored me, I loved Hogwarts like a fond grandmother.

"I guess it all started with our conversation yesterday," I said, trying hard to keep my voice neutral. "I'll be honest with you, sir, I had a horrible feeling that I wasn't told the whole truth." The only body gesture he made to signal he was listening was a slight tilt of his head.

"You are so arrogant," said Snape venomously, "so self-important that you wish the Headmaster of this school to privy his secrets to you? Albus, this is prepos…"

"While I understand your concerns," interjected Dumbledore, "it would perhaps benefit you both if you parted company. As Shakespeare once wrote, parting is such sweet sorrow."

Snape stared at Dumbledore incredulously. "Shakespeare was a revered Muggle playwright," explained Dumbledore. "My dear friend Nicholas Flamel introduced me to his plays decades ago and I must admit I have acquired quite a taste for them. That particular quote comes from Romeo and Juliet, one of his more popular plays."

"Dudley says a new version of it is coming out soon," I said absent-mindedly.

"Oh? Are you planning to see it?" asked Dumbledore.

I laughed hollowly. "The Dursleys won't let me go to the cinema, I've got far too much work to do around the house." I smirked; the words had the desired effect. Dumbledore's serenity faded for a fraction of a second.

"Before this digression devours us," said Dumbledore, his hand running up and down his beard, "your absence may help Harry collect his thoughts." He raised his thin hand and pointed towards the door. "If you wish to listen in by pressing your ear to the door, please feel free." He almost added this as an afterthought.

Snape's lips thinned, though this did not have such a profound effect when his cheeks had a pink tinge, freckles covered his face and he only appeared several years older than I was. The sound of a door being closed with unnecessary force signalled that I should continue my story.

"Where was I?"

"You were doubting the prophecy, last I recall," said Dumbledore quietly, staring at something over my shoulder.

"No, I was doubting your, err, interpretation of it."

Dumbledore stared at me intently over his half-moon spectacles then smiled. "My mistake," he said, "call it age."

I decided that instead of trying to repel his direct Legilimency, I would avoid eye contact and attempt to deflect any indirect probes. "I basically thought that the most important thing to do was find out the full context of the prophecy, and I knew that the Ministry kept records of these sort of things."

"May I ask where you picked up this information?" asked Dumbledore. I looked intently at a piece of parchment on the desk as he said this. The most important thing was that he did not find out about the dreams I had about Tom.

"A History of Magic lesson," I said, hoping that Binns had droned on about the Ministry at some point during the past five years.

"I was unaware that such sensitive and highly secret matters had made its way onto the Hogwarts syllabus," said Dumbledore pleasantly.

"No, it was a question I asked him earlier this year," I said quickly, covering up my error. "He mentioned a prophecy a Seer had given and I asked how he knew about it. He said there's a place in the ministry where they stored prophecies."

"I see," said Dumbledore, though the change from stroking his beard to drumming the desk with his fingers gave me the impression that he did not believe me. "Please continue."

Since the small lie I had fed him did not work, I decided on sticking to the truth for a while. "I'll admit that I set up a diversion so that I could escape. Once nobody was looking, I slipped away and made my way to the Ministry."

"And how did you make your way there?"

I had a feeling that he knew the answer to this, that it was a test. I therefore had to abandon my original idea of claiming I floo'd. "I Apparated," I said bluntly.

I suddenly had the odd feeling that I was being watched. I spared a quick glance around but relaxed as soon as I realised that it was the former Heads in their portraits. Those who were not pretending to sleep were frowning at me disapprovingly. If my future at Hogwarts depended on any of these people, I would have been packing already. Dumbledore did not question my premature mastery of Apparition but instead motioned for me to continue.

"I had a look at the list of departments and only one had any chance of holding the prophecies. So I took the lift down to the Department of Mysteries."

"I imagine you may have attracted some attention given your history," said Dumbledore, fingers still drumming slowly on the desk.

"Yeah, that's what I thought so I disguised myself as a Ministry worker. There were no guards on the ninth floor which I found weird, so I went into that circle room unchallenged."

"And you were in perfect health throughout?" asked Dumbledore, etching concern across his face. Had I not known about the Mind Wards, I would have found this an extremely odd question to ask.

"I had a lot of headaches, actually," I lied. "And they got worse as time went on, which is why I was keen to get out of there as quickly as possible."

From then on, I recounted the story truthfully, though I, of course, omitted the Unspeakable whom I had manipulated. I told him of the prophecy and Snape stopping me from hearing its entire contents. I told him of my anger at Snape, that there was a particularly sharp headache which clouded my vision. I told him of the alarm, and of my idea to dress as Aurors in order to escape. I emphasised that it was Snape who cast the Imperius curse and told him of the Aurors who chased us into right to the death. He nodded encouragingly throughout and did not interrupt me even once. Even as the tutting from the portraits grew steadily louder, I kept speaking.

"And so here I am," I finished, failing to contain a sigh.

"Hand him over to authorities!" called out a sneering voice.

"That is quite enough," said Dumbledore, before turning back to me. "While the manner of his outburst is quite unacceptable, there is a shred of truth in Phineas' statement." He took off his half-moon spectacles and cleaned them on his midnight blue robes. Once they were replaced at the end of his nose, he continued speaking. "I must underline the severity of your actions, Harry. It was not only the rules of Hogwarts you have disregarded, but the laws of our society." The portraits took this opportunity to express their approval.

"The Department of Mysteries is warded in ways most do not understand," continued Dumbledore, once the noise had died down. "By setting foot even in the corridor leading to the Department, you placed not only your own life in grave danger but also that of Professor Snape, who was kind enough to attempt a rescue mission." I sat in silence, quietly disagreeing with most of what was being said.

"I am not sure whether you are aware of this, Harry, but your actions today warrant a life sentence in Azkaban." I blinked dumbly. Did he know about my use of the Imperius Curse or did breaking into the Department carry the same sentence? Dumbledore sighed heavily and I was suddenly aware of how old he looked. "In any other circumstances, I would have had to remove you from the school and involve the Ministry." There were cries of outrage from some of the portraits. I remained silent, waiting for Dumbledore to finish.

"However, I appreciate both your honesty and my involvement in the motivation behind your admittedly imprudent actions. Curiosity is not a sin, Harry, but it must at all times be tempered with caution. I must impress upon you the extent of your luck today. Had Professor Snape not found you, it may have been a cell where you would be sitting now and not the security of Hogwarts." I allowed yet another comment I strongly disagreed with pass. If it had not been for Snape, I would have heard the full prophecy, my attack on Snape would not have triggered the alarms and I would be eating dinner in the Great Hall.

"I will freely admit that you have not heard the full contents of the prophecy. Nevertheless, you know as much as I on this subject. Unfortunately, the Seer involved finished the prophecy during an interruption which had snared my attention. You see, Lord Voldemort had employed a spy to retrieve information on my activities. I only discovered the Death Eater's presence some way into the prophecy. My need to know the prophecy was overcome by my disinclination of allowing Voldemort privy to the details of the prophecy."

"Why did Snape –"

"Professor Snape," corrected Dumbledore.

"Yeah, why did he stop me from hearing the full prophecy today, then?" I asked, pretending to believe Dumbledore's story.

"Old wounds take time to heal," said Dumbledore sadly. "I am sure you are aware of Professor Snape's history with your father and your uncanny resemblance to him makes it difficult for Professor Snape to move on. You will have to give him time, Harry. Ah, I see the effects of the Polyjuice potion are wearing off." I looked down at my hands, which were quickly thinning and shrinking. I used one of the peculiar silver instruments of Dumbledore's as a mirror, though it gave a distorted reflection. My small chin was almost miniscule while my forehead was enlarged, my scar a lightning-shaped chasm. My green eyes were practically saucer-like compared to my microscopic mouth.

I ripped my eyes from the comical reflection. Dumbledore eyed me expectantly, as though waiting for an answer to a question he had not asked. I pondered on what angle I should take. The opportunity for the angry teenager had long since evaporated and would have been fruitless in any case. I was in the wrong and he refused to admit he was lying about the prophecy. Even if he had not heard it originally, he would have heard the copy; he was Supreme Mugwump after all.

There was, as always, the Riddle approach. Engage in mind games and use any weakness Dumbledore may show against him. I knew, though, that this was out of the question. While I could give a fair impersonation of Riddle, I was in no position to manoeuvre, nor was I good enough to have a battle of wits with the old Headmaster. And anyway, there was a higher likelihood of Neville Longbottom assassinating the Minister than there was of Dumbledore showing any signs of cracking.

This left me only one option: the repentant schoolboy.

Dumbledore's phoenix trilled as it had yesterday. Once again, it soothed me like a sip of hot chocolate, but there was a part of me that was extremely irritated by it. I shrugged off this odd feeling and spoke up.

"What I did today was wrong," I said, attempting to keep my tone sincere when I felt anything but. "I was just so worried about the prophecy that I wanted to go to any lengths to find out the truth. I didn't think about the consequences. I was reckless." I paused to take a breath when a piece of parchment caught my eye. I thought I had seen the word 'Horcrux'.

"Is something the matter?" asked Dumbledore kindly.

"No," I said, hoping he had not spotted the object of my attention, "just got a small headache. I'm alright now." I looked at a few other pieces of parchment in order to divert Dumbledore's attention from the one I was really interested in. "I am really grateful that you've given me a second chance, sir, I really appreciate it. I love Hogwarts more than anything else. I'm not going to betray your confidence in me. Hopefully one day we'll both find out the whole prophecy."

Dumbledore smiled warmly, though it was not with the same expression of absolute trust he had used in my first and second years. I had a feeling he will never wear that one around me again.

"Unfortunately, I cannot allow this misdemeanour to go unpunished," said Dumbledore wearily. "I am afraid I am going to take one hundred and fifty points from Gryffindor. It is a shame that your sublime efforts during the Quidditch season has gone to waste. A great shame –"

Before he could utter even one more word, there was an almighty crash that caused some of the silver instruments to vibrate with such ferocity, I feared they would fall and shatter. I looked over my shoulder and saw Snape breathing heavily, his skin sallow as ever.

"This is an outrage, Dumbledore," he snarled. I used the distraction as an opportunity to examine the parchment concerning Horcruxes more closely. Annoyingly, most of the sheet was covered with other, more formal looking letters. I noticed that the cursive handwriting was Dumbledore's. It read:

_Of Voldemort's seven Horcruxes, new evidence I have uncovered from Ogden may point to the ancestral ring of the House of Slytherin holding…_

I quickly averted my gaze from the piece of parchment; I heard my name being called. I looked up at Dumbledore, who sent me a curious look. Judging by Snape's murderous glare, it appeared as though Dumbledore had failed to subdue the Potions Master.

"I think it would be best if you joined your housemates," said Dumbledore purposefully. "You may want to start thinking of packing; yet another school year draws to a close." I nodded slowly and rose to my feet.

I had been searching for another Horcrux for almost three years and here, right under my nose, lay the answer. Slytherin's ring. But where on earth would Tom have hidden it? The orphanage? No, that was too obvious and too dangerous.

My feet led me through the oaken door. The moving phoenix statue stairs were ready for me. As I was about to step onto them, I heard the voices from the office. Unable to resist the temptation, I brought up my most powerful Occlumency wards to stop Dumbledore knowing I was listening and pressed my ear to the door.

"Dumbledore, the boy is dangerous," said Snape urgently.

"I do not think he is dangerous, merely misguided. For this, I must take the blame." I frowned. Misguided? How on earth does he know anything about me? Other than this week, I had hardly spoken to him alone for three years.

"There is no time for second chances," snapped Snape, his voice hurried. I had never heard him speak this quickly; he usually took time to milk every word, weighing them up like potions ingredients. Only when he lost his temper did he ever let words slip out of his mouth carelessly. "He is ruthless and reckless."

"Severus, we must not allow our pasts –"

"This has nothing to do with his pathetic father." Snape's voice was growing louder; he seemed really desperate to get rid of me. "Loathe as I am to admit it, Potter is in a different mould. Dumbledore, he cast an Unforgivable today."

There was a protracted silence. I felt a sear of pain from my hand and noticed that my nails were digging deep into my palms. What would Dumbledore do now, I thought, rubbing the throbbing pink mark my nails had left. Knowing him, nothing. Knowing him, he already knew.

"Do you have nothing to say to that?"

"We cannot alter the past."

"He almost killed me, Dumbledore!" snarled Snape, almost shouting now. "After acting on your orders, he felt it necessary to attack me. If anything, that should warrant expulsion!"

"Did you notice any changes in his appearance?"

"He had already stolen another identity, so there was no way of telling. How can you do nothing while this boy runs amok, doing as he pleases?"

"You had seen the false appearance before the attack. If you wish for me to act accordingly, you must reveal the whole truth. Were there any changes in his person?"

There was another silence. I pressed my ears closer to the door, thinking that I was missing something.

"Severus, you are keeping something from me," said Dumbledore, a hint of impatience in his voice. "There is no shame in being caught off your guard by a very powerful young wizard."

"It is nothing," said Snape dismissively, "nothing of value in any case."

"Severus, you more than any know I do not deride suggestions."

"Potter…reminded me of _him_."

My breath caught in my throat and I felt my eyes bulge. No. There is no possible way he could have…

I felt like groaning as I remembered. The impression of Riddle I had performed in order to make Snape more responsive. I had not thought of the consequences.

"Please expand."

"The mannerisms, the coldness, it was all there. It is a farcical idea but I think he may have been possessed by…by the Dark Lord." I felt my muscles relax suddenly. For a horrible moment, I thought Snape may have pieced together the puzzle.

Dumbledore remained silent so Snape continued. "It would explain his remarkable hike in academic performance. Had it not been for the…situation with the Weasley girl three ago, I would not have even contemplated it. The evidence is there, Dumbledore."

"What evidence in particular?"

"He ordered me with such…ferocity I was taken aback. You are aware of the last instance I had been ordered in such a manner. Furthermore, he managed to cast the Imperius Curse with as much skill as his age would allow. The fully grown Auror would have fallen to the curse had it not been for his distance from Potter. Finally, the attack…" Snape trailed off, disgust and self-loathing reverberating with every syllable uttered.

"I know this is difficult, Severus, but the first step to diagnosis is understanding."

"It was his eyes. His eyes were red. The spells I was attacked with today, not even I knew. There was no defence against it! You must get rid of the boy. He will eventually hand the Dark Lord weapons no spell can defend against."

"I understand," said Dumbledore pensively. He did not elaborate.

"Well?"

"I will take your idea on board. Until it is proven, however, we cannot take any action which would draw the Ministry's attention. You are forgetting the political consequence of expelling Mr. Potter –"

"I hear rumours," said Snape, his voice shaking with fury now, "that the Dark Lord has abandoned the forests of Albania. While these are rumours, the fact is that he will not rest until he has a body. Having Potter under his thumb will mean he will tread the path to his goals with absurd ease! You know as well as I the fickle nature of the Ministry."

"We are not taking any interest in Mr. Potter's well-being," said Dumbledore. It seemed he was well aware of this information. "I will be keeping a closer eye on him. If you are right, I will take measures towards ridding Harry of Voldemort's presence. Until then, there will be no slipping of information. The events of today will remain between you, I and Mr. Potter. Is that understood?"

"And assuming he volunteers the information to his little band of followers?" said Snape contemptuously. "What of my reputation?"

"Oh, I am sure he will be disinclined to shed the light on this particular tale. After all, if he has been possessed, that information will never leave his lips." I could hear a hint of amusement in Dumbledore's voice and I suddenly had a horrible feeling he knew I was standing outside.

Needing no further warning, I straightened up and hopped onto the revolving staircase, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Dumbledore did not believe Snape – that much was obvious. But what conclusions had he drawn? He was very quick to ask about the attack on Snape. Another thought, far more horrifying than Dumbledore finding out about Tom was niggling at the back of my mind. My eyes turned red. Was I turning into Voldemort? Was I turning into my parents' killer? That very thought disgusted me down to my core. As I emerged from the empty corridor leading to the office, I took the staircase immediately to my left.

It made sense, though. The dreams about Tom, my thirst for knowledge, my attraction to Tracey, my attraction to the darker spells…

No! There was no way I am turning into Voldemort. Snape and Dumbledore had no idea what they were talking about. I changed of my accord and it benefited me. The greatest argument I had was Hermione. If I were turning into a crazy Dark Lord, she would have chosen Ron over me.

Clinging desperately on to that thought, I ascended onto the fourth floor landing. For the present, my greatest worry was Dumbledore following me around. No, I thought, he would be far subtler. The teachers. He would get reports from them.

My feet instinctively led me down the spiral staircase of the library. Since we came from different houses, the Hogwarts House system forced us to use it. As expected, Tracey, Terry and Hermione were lounging in our usual spot at the far corner of the library, where the fading rays of sunlight filtered in through the magnificent arch windows. I approached the table and collapsed in the last remaining seat.

"Alright," said Terry, his concentration fixed on a piece of parchment he was trying to mould magically.

"Alright," I mumbled. He had only managed a fold in the parchment. Tracey was lazily watching Terry's progress. Her arms were folded and lay on the table, supporting her head. Hermione was staring at me curiously.

"How was the _thing_ at the Department of Mysteries?" she asked.

"If I told you that, I'd have to kill you," I said, a wry smile pulling at my lips. The reference was lost on Terry and Tracey but Hermione chuckled appreciatively.

"Another one of their Muggle things," said Tracey, rolling her eyes. "How _was_ it? Were you caught?"

I deliberately looked elsewhere but at her. I could handle lying to Terry or even Hermione if I had to, but there was something about Tracey which made it impossible for me to lie when speaking to her. "It wasn't a joke," I said slowly, watching the parchment getting folded inexpertly. Impatiently, Terry jabbed his wand, causing his project to vibrate before catching fire.

"It's not like we're going to tell anyone," said Terry, irritated at the falling ashen remains. "You told us why you really went anyway."

"If I could tell you, you know I would," I said quietly. "But maybe, I might be more up for it _later_." I was jabbing my head surreptitiously towards Pince, who stood not five metres away. This did not seem to sate Terry.

"But –"

"If he can't tell us," said Hermione, exasperated, "then he can't tell us. Was it good or not, though?" She lowered her voice. "Not for what you went there for, but as a place of work."

"It wasn't as great as everyone thinks."

"That's just as well," said Hermione briskly. "I've been thinking about possible careers, of course, and being a Healer just seems much more rewarding. Also, I heard that Unspeakables have to more or less sacrifice their social life. While they are paid better than almost any other profession, job satisfaction seems more important than financial gains, wouldn't you think?"

I sniggered and Terry groaned. "I don't think those Muggle advice books you've been reading have done you any good," said Tracey. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"All of you realise that you will have to think about careers sometime soon," she said, her arms crossed.

"Me?" I said lightly. "The great Harry Potter? Why, I can waltz into any job without any OWLs and they'll be over the moon. You're looking at the next Minister, Miss. Granger."

"Whoever heard of a child of the Noble House of Davis doing something as common as working?" said Tracey, feigning hurt. "I will assume my father's position on the Board of Governors and the Wizengamot and sit on my mountain of gold."

"Hermione Granger!" piped Terry admonishingly. "How dare you even hint at the heir of Honeydukes lifting a finger? So naïve…so innocent…" He gave a very Dumbledorian shake of the head. Finally, none of us could hold it in any longer and we burst into peals of laughter. I noticed Hermione's laughter was rather uncomfortable.

I had no time to question her; Madame Pince had swooped down upon us. The rays of the setting sun made her features even more vulture-like and shrivelled than usual. "Ah, Madame Pince," I said, feigning brightness. "May I say, you're looking particularly refreshed today. I'm sure the annoying students trying to cram loudly leaving has done you wonders."

Her shrivelled lips widened into an under-practised wooden smile. "Even you cannot change the closing time of the library, Mr. Potter," she said in her high, croaky voice.

"I appreciate that," I said. My smile was beginning to hurt me, if that were possible. "Time flies when you're having fun, I suppose."

"Indeed," she said and moved away. As soon as she was out of sight, I rolled my eyes. The others stifled their giggles as we got up. I was sometimes amazed at my ability to charm the her. Pince was difficult, of course. She generally saw herself as some sort of guardian of books against the great enemy: the student population. She saw students as parasites that were intent on damaging her precious books.

"I wonder if she's married," said Terry as we strolled down the fourth floor corridor.

"Oh don't…" Tracey trailed off and shuddered as I took her hand.

"Well I'm going up obviously," said Terry when we reached the stairs, trying desperately not to think of Pince in a romantic situation.

"So am I, unfortunately," said Hermione. She looked at me questioningly.

"No, I'm going to walk Tracey to the Slytherin common room." Hermione nodded.

"Before we say goodnight," said Terry mischievously, "here's an image to go to sleep with. Pince reading up on, err, _procreation_ before trying it out with her husband…"

"Urgh," said Tracey in disgust. Her warm hand squeezed slightly harder on mine.

"You are disgusting," snapped Hermione, visibly repulsed, before ascending the stairs. I appreciated the humour but the mere thought of Pince in a revealing dressing gown was too horrible to contemplate. Terry's laughter followed him up the staircase.

"Sometimes I worry about that boy."

"What did you get up today, then?" I asked softly, as we descended the stairs.

"Oh, after following your instructions, we hung out, wondering whether or not you were in Azkaban yet." I felt myself stiffen, but quickly tried to laugh it off.

"Who won the bet, then?" I asked, trying to cast it off as a joke.

"Don't pull that shit on me," snapped Tracey. She stopped in her tracks in an empty second floor corridor. Her hazel eyes were shining with anger. "You told us what to do this morning. Fine. You didn't want Snape or someone finding out what you were doing. Fine. But what's stopping you now?"

"Tracey," I said dangerously.

"Is this how it's going to work?" said Tracey waspishly. "I tell you secrets but you lie to my face? I can't allow myself to be made to look a fool–"

"I said I can't tell you in public, didn't I?" I said quietly. "You're making a fool out of yourself by shouting in the middle of a corridor." I grabbed her arm and pulled her into an empty classroom.

This was a classroom I had never seen before. The dusty tables and chairs were stacked along the far wall. The dark ceiling was alive with shifting pearly runes, most of which I did not recognise. Tracey seemed to have calmed down, judging by the lack of quivering of her hair.

"I don't want you to tell me everything," she said pleadingly. "But one day you'll realise that you're not as sneaky as you think you are. I'll find out what happened eventually." I sighed and did the only thing I could think to do. I pulled her warm body towards mine and enveloped her in a hug. I kissed her smooth neck.

"No," she said and reluctantly pulled away.

"I managed it," I said, refusing to let go. "I broke in." Tracey pulled away more forcefully.

"You think that's funny, do you?" she said, hurt contorted in every line of her face. She looked away but I would not let her. I placed a finger on her narrow chin and forced her to face me.

"No, listen. I broke into the Department of Mysteries," I said, looking her straight in the eyes. "I tricked an Unspeakable into letting me get in."

Tracey stared at me unblinkingly for a moment, her mouth forming a small 'o'. "That's not possible," she said, but I could tell she believed me. "My father said not even the Dark Lord at the height of his powers…"

"You father has no idea what Lord Voldemort can and can't do," I said bitterly.

"But how?"

"I can't tell you," I said, "Dumbledore's made sure of that." She stiffened and her eyes narrowed ever so slightly.

"Dumbledore found you?"

"Do you think the Aurors can stop me?" I said, only partly joking. I bent down and kissed her tenderly. Her lips were dry but the usual warm feeling lingered. When we finally separated, she nodded towards the door.

"Anymore accusations you'd like to throw at me?" I asked as we emerged into the corridor.

"No, but there is a request," she said.

"Another one?" I said. "Aren't I lucky."

"It's my father," she said quietly. "He wants to meet you." I kept my expression neutral. I deeply disapproved of her father and I had a feeling she knew this. While I was careful not to give an opinion on him, the expression of disdain I always wore was unavoidable. The man had not only been a scummy Death Eater, but he was low enough not to stick to his guns. I could never bring myself to feel anything but contempt for such a person. Judging by Tracey's body language when she was forced into mentioning him, he did not like me either.

"What about your mum?" I said, attempting to brush away the suggestion. "I thought there'd be an encore after Christmas." Last Christmas, I had spent the holiday with Tracey's mother, Mrs. Jones. She had welcomed me warmly and was even happy with Terry and Hermione turning up for a few days, despite the relatively small semi-detached house she lived in.

"You can go there for the second part of the holiday if you really want to."

"Who told your father about us?" I asked, more coolly than I had first intended.

"It could have been anyone," said Tracey quietly. "But considering Mr. Malfoy and my father are best friends, I'm guessing it was Draco." I nodded slowly. It made sense. Considering the fact that I had attacked Malfoy, the reception would not be pleasant. I could only imagine Dumbledore's expression when he found out I was spending the holiday in the Davis household of all places. I started to think that it would not be such a bad idea. Davis himself would be but an annoying itch whereas I could find out so much in the house of a former inner circle Death Eater.

"So when has your father arranged for me to drop by?"

"He's really not that bad once you get to know him," said Tracey quickly. "Once he finds out how amazing you are, he'll love you like a son, trust me." I smiled weakly. That was far more terrifying than the notion of him hating me.

"He wants to meet me straight away then, I assume." Tracey nodded apologetically before kissed me thankfully.

"I knew you'd understand," she said, as the entrance to the Slytherin common room came into view.

"I'll brace myself for a tide of Pureblood protocol, shall I?" She laughed and slapped me playfully.

"Goodnight," she said and kissed me one final time.

I looked on as she gave the password. The apparently blank stone wall formed a small opening and she disappeared into it. This was going to be an interesting holiday.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	8. Fear and Feared

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle : The letter 'e'.

* * *

_When you say my name,  
I no longer exist_

* * *

– **CHAPTER EIGHT –**

**Fear and Feared**

* * *

The next morning, there was the usual bustle of students frantically trying to pack as quickly as possible. Unfortunately, their laziness during the earlier parts of the year meant they had to do it magically. I would have been disappointed in the number of students who could not manage a summoning charm had I been a teacher. Luckily for me, I could perform it and was packed within fifteen minutes. 

I entered the Great Hall, which was relatively empty considering it was breakfast. I spotted Hermione eating alone, looking rather morose. Wondering what had happened, I sat opposite her and helped myself to some toast.

"Morning," she said.

"Yeah, morning," I replied. "Tough night?" I looked pointedly at her hair, which was not bushy, as it usually was, but unkempt.

She looked at me unsmilingly. "Haven't you heard?" she said.

"Someone lost Gryffindor a hundred and fifty points. The whole house was in an uproar all night, I couldn't sleep!" I felt a little guilty. Not only was her lack of sleep my fault, but the silencing charms around my bed meant I had as sound a night as Riddle would allow.

"Any idea who it is?" I asked, taking a swig of pumpkin juice.

"Well someone had the bright idea that it was you," she said, biting her lip. "And since no-one's owned up and you didn't deny it…well, you know what they're like. Just ignore them."

I snorted into my drink and Hermione smiled weakly. Just when I thought they weren't idiots and that my distance from my housemates was Riddle's influence, they did something like this. If anyone was at all different, they look down on them and shun them. If anything goes wrong, they blame them. In many ways, Gryffindor house is just as responsible for the pathetic house rivalry as Slytherin was. My only shock was that they managed to catch the true perpetrator.

"There's something else bothering you," I said. Hermione was always straight with me and I felt I owed her the same treatment in return. In any case, anything eating at her was far more important than a group of imbeciles crying over a competition which does not reward them personally. At least McGonagall got to keep the trophy.

"It's nothing," she said briskly, not looking me in the eye.

"Did they say anything to you?" I asked dangerously. Hermione shook her head, I could tell it was the truth. I did not know why or how, but I could tell if somebody was lying or not without using Legilimency. Only Dumbledore was impossible to read, leading me to believe it had something to do with body language. Since the Headmaster gave absolutely nothing away, I had nothing to work with. Even after hours of searching, I could not find a single paragraph in any book about what this ability was.

"No, no, it's nothing to do with that," she said quickly. "It's just something we were talking about last night, that's all. Seriously, don't worry about it, I'm being silly." I shot her an appraising look. It took all my control not to use Legilimency on her. Unfortunately, I had long since promised myself not to use it on my friends.

"Maybe you just need to get it off your chest," I said.

She bit her nails nervously, I ignored the dark looks I was getting from the Gryffindors who were slowly pouring into the Great Hall. She took a deep breath and said, "remember last night when you were joking about Terry and Tracey being rich and all three of you not having to work?" I nodded, not really understanding where this was going. "Well, sometimes I worry that it's true. You know, you and Tracey are great duellers and Terry's really popular and smart as well. Sometimes I think I'm a bit of an outsider, you know? I know what you're thinking; this is really stupid. But sometimes I believe what people say when –"

"What do people say?" I snapped, shooting a toxic look at Seamus Finnegan. Hermione's eyes widened, perhaps she realised that she had let too much information slip.

"Oh, this is what I was afraid of –"

"Was it Finnegan?" I asked, my teeth gritted. I hated the fact that Hermione was picked on by bitches like Lavendar Brown. It was partly anger that they would even contemplate offending one of _my_ friends and it was partly guilt. I had practically robbed Hermione of any normal relationship with them, not that she wanted it.

"Please, Harry," she pleaded. "Just this once, don't go out hunting for revenge." I took a few calming breaths then nodded. While I had banned myself from performing Legilimency on friends, this did not mean I could not raid Finnegan's mind and find who was responsible that way.

"You have to stand up to them. You're so much more powerful than –"

"You know how I feel about using magic as a weapon."

"As for what they say, they have no idea. I would have thought that the cleverest witch of our age would have figured out that this is jealousy. You're definitely one of the cleverest people I know and anyone who says you're a third wheel has no idea what they're talking about. Just because my parents died to save me, or the Boots and Davis' are rich, doesn't mean that you're any less than us." I placed my hand on hers and forced her to look at me. "And you're definitely not an outsider."

"Thanks, Harry."

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. While there were plenty of glaring and muttering behind hands, nobody felt it necessary to confront me about losing the house points. The weather was particularly pleasant, so we decided to enjoy it before the feast. I was glad to see that Hermione had cheered up considerably, even though she was receiving the same treatment I was. We chose a spot in the enticing shade of an oak tree, which doubled as a fantastic view of the lake. The water shimmered and sparkled like a river of crystal.

"What are you kids going to get up to this summer?" asked Terry. He was playing with the snitch I had caught in the final game of the season. We had trounced Slytherin; I pulled a Wronski Feint and ruled Malfoy out of the game.

"Well, I'm signing my death warrant," I said. "What about you, Hermione?" Tracey huffed and flicked my ear. "What? The man wanted to know the truth."

"He's meeting my father," said Tracey, her eyes narrowed.

I played with her hair lovingly and said, "if that's what you want to call it, then fine." Terry caught the snitch again and shot Tracey a questioning look.

"Are you sure that's a good idea?" he asked, quite serious now.

"What's wrong with it?" retorted Tracey defensively.

"The small matter of his name being Harry Potter," said Terry. "Are you expecting them to get along handsomely?"

"Why wouldn't they?" It was Hermione who had asked this question. I would hate to be the one who told her she had befriended the daughter of a Death Eater. Knowing Hermione, though, she probably knew but asked so she wouldn't draw Tracey's suspicions.

"The fact that he's best friends with Lucius Malfoy," said Terry incredulously. "I hardly think he's going to dote on Harry. And I'm not sure Harry's gonna take any abuse lightly. All I have to say is that I wish I was there for the introductions."

"They're going to get on," said Tracey confidently. "Aren't you?" I shrugged.

"If he behaves, so will I."

"You must want to make a good impression, though," said Hermione. I smiled and stared out at the lake. Did I want to make a good impression? Not particularly. Had it not been the fact that he was in Voldemort's Inner Circle, I never would have agreed to the idea. In the unlikely event that he accepts me, I would snub him. Once I found out what I wanted to, I will either stay at Hermione's or Terry's, most likely bringing Tracey with me.

"This is Harry," said Terry. "Have you met him?"

"Oh, shut up," said Hermione, still giggling.

"So while these two are trying to find the best places to get it on without a certain traditional father finding out," said Terry, jabbing a finger at us, "what will you be doing, Hermione?"

"I'll be in France for a while, of course. After that, who knows?"

"Maybe a quick trip to Bulgaria?" said Tracey innocently. We laughed at Hermione's expense. Her face had turned redder than Weasley's.

"For the last time, we're not an item," said Hermione, exasperated. "Viktor's just a pen friend."

"There's only one pen involved in that relationship," said Terry. I laughed so hard I slipped from the support of the tree and lay on the grass. Hermione slapped Terry around the head.

"Ah, look who's come out to play," said Terry, his eyes lighting up. I followed his line of vision, noticing Ron Weasley and his merry band of followers walking towards us. Both Hermione and I tried not to insult him unprovoked, since Hermione clung to the hope that Ron would see how wrong he was. Terry and Tracey felt no obligation to abide by this.

"Enjoying the day, Weasley?" asked Tracey, her eyes gleaming mercilessly.

"W-What?" said Ron, slightly put off track by Tracey's apparent interest.

"Don't worry, Tracey," said Terry, "I don't think he's used to girls talking to him. He'll be dreaming about this tonight." Ron turned a deep shade of red and his hands balled up into fists.

"You're one to talk, Boot," yelled Seamus. "I heard you _cried_ when Greengrass rejected you." I was surprised that Finnegan had been so accurate. While he did not cry, Terry had moped for a week when Daphne ruled out any chance of a relationship earlier in the year.

"At least he has the balls to do it," said Tracey waspishly. "Now how long are you going to hang around? It's just that we're discussing the best ways to attack your homes over the summer. Do you have any Anti-Apparition wards around your hovel, Weasley?"

"Actually, you don't need to tell him," said Terry off-handedly. "You can just read their minds, can't you, Lord?" He turned to me and bowed. Since Ron had ruined Terry's chances with Parvati Patil late last year, the Ravenclaw had launched a vendetta against Ron. Between them, Tracey and Terry had worked with the Gryffindor's suspicions of me, constantly referring to me as a Dark Lord. It had annoyed me at first, but gradually I began to enjoy the charade, particularly since it eliminated the threat of younger students asking me what Voldemort looked like.

Since Seamus had insulted Terry, I felt I could join in. I stared Ron straight in the eyes and willed him to reveal his memories to me. They revealed themselves to me with absurd ease. I found out that it was Lavendar Brown who had insulted Hermione. As I had expected, his current thoughts revolved around asking me whether or not I had lost Gryffindor House all the points.

I placed my hands on my temples and rubbed the area with my eyes closed. I hummed to add effect. "He's thinking…he's thinking…" I snapped my eyes open suddenly. "Aha! He has a question to ask me. One hundred and fifty points were lost from Gryffindor. He wants to know if it was my fault." The three Gryffindor boys paled. I ignored Hermione's exasperated sigh.

"Didn't you know?" said Tracey incredulously. "Dumbledore found him torturing a Mug- Mudblood, so he took the points off. Don't tell anyone, though, it's been kept quiet. Not only has he sent out his message, but he's helped the great house of Salazar Slytherin to the House Cup. Was it the Cruciatus you used, honey?"

"No, you know I'm more inventive than _that_, babe," I replied. Tracey pulled me into a deep kiss, knowing it would annoy Ron. I was always self-conscious about public displays of affection and pulled away quickly.

"Master," said Terry, bowing low, "did you not promise to teach us the art of the Cruciatus? We're all going to turn seventeen very soon, after all." I nodded at Terry.

"The time will come," I said. "And I know just the people to test it on." By this time, Ron and Finnegan were half-way to the castle, probably telling McGonagall. I never understood why they wouldn't pick another professor – after all, Hermione and I were her favourite students. Thomas stood still for a moment, looking at me curiously. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, before changing his mind and following in the footsteps of his two friends.

Tracey and Terry waited until the trio had successfully entered the castle before laughing rapturously. "Merlin, I love torturing Gryffs," said Tracey breathlessly. "As if _you_ could be a Dark Lord. You're one of the most light-sided wizards I know!" I smiled meekly. If only she knew the truth. If only she knew that we had acted out Riddle's fantasy. She would not be laughing then.

Hermione failed to join in the laughter. She was giving all of us disapproving looks. "What?" giggled Terry. "Lighten up Hermione, it's the holidays in a few hours!"

"Sorry if I don't find pretending to be Death Eaters funny," she said acidly. "You do realise that they believe you every time you do that? Pretty soon the whole school will believe it."

"Not the whole school," I said quietly.

"Yeah," said Tracey, "Harry's right. It'll only be the Gryffs and the pathetic 'Puffs that believe it. Maybe a couple of Ravenclaws. Anyone who can't think for themselves more or less."

"Speaking of Death Eaters," said Terry suddenly, "how do you suppose those Death Eaters broke out of Azkaban?" I turned my head towards Terry so quickly, my neck cricked.

"How many broke out?" I said, rubbing my neck. "When did they break out?"

Terry looked at me strangely. "Didn't you see the _Daily Prophet_?" he said. "Apparently ten of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named's most trusted Death Eaters broke out of Azkaban last night. The Ministry tried to cover it up as usual but they had their hands full with something else apparently."

"Why would they suddenly break out?" I asked. "It's not like Voldemort's even in the country."

"That's the thing," said Tracey coolly, "Skeeter's been spinning stories about the Dark Lord returning to power. It's mainly paper-selling speculation, of course." Hermione's eyes narrowed, as it usually did when she was piecing together a particularly difficult puzzle.

"Sirius Black manage to escape a few years ago," she said. "Couldn't it have been him that freed them? I mean, he is You-Know-Who's second in command."

"He hasn't been seen for years, though," said Tracey pensively. "It's thought that he's dead, or left the country at least. From what I've heard, he was always a bit of an attention-seeker; he'd have turned up somewhere if he was still around."

"How do you know that?" asked Hermione.

"All the pureblood families are interlinked," explained Terry patiently over Tracey's tutting. "In this case, Tracey's dad and Malfoy's dad work together. Malfoy's mum is a Black, a cousin of Sirius Black. Therefore, Tracey knows what Sirius Black was like before he was locked up."

"It must be time for the feast," said Hermione, breaking a few moments of silence. She got up gingerly and stretched and Terry followed suit.

"My Lord, will you and the Dark Lady be joining us for dinner?" asked Terry, bowing low, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"I have some business to take care of," I said, assuming a tone of royalty. "We shall be along soon enough." Even Hermione failed to suppress a chuckle.

Terry and Hermione followed in the footsteps of the tormented Gryffindors, chatting animatedly. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. I had wanted to speak to Tracey alone ever since I foolishly admitted breaking into the Department of Mysteries. Ever since I remembered something Snape had said to me in the Department.

_Your friend's mind is an open book. I saw the lies you fed her. You are not as subtle as you think, Potter_

There was no doubt in my mind that she _needed_ Occlumency. I could not have her unknowingly betray my secrets. I also had the distinct feeling that Lucius Malfoy may have dipped into Legilimency. If he ever found out that it was me at the Ministry, I would be in Azkaban quicker than a convicted Death Eater.

Unfortunately, I had no idea how to teach the art. I had read a few books on the subject but it all seemed to come naturally. I had a feeling it was passed on from Voldemort, just as parseltongue was. Tracey was remarkably quick, though, so I hoped that this would spill over into Occlumency.

"What business are we dealing with, _Master_?" said Tracey seductively. She was tracing her hand down my chest. While I liked where this was leading, there were more important things to deal with.

"No, this is serious business," I said tonelessly, my way of signalling that there was time for amusement. The impact this had on Tracey was instantaneous. She withdrew her hand as if it had been stung and straightened up.

"Is it about what we talked about last night?" I noted a hint of hope in her voice – it was difficult to distinguish her moods but after a year, I was quite proficient.

"It's linked. Have you heard of the subtle art of Occlumency?" Tracey's eyes widened slightly and her lips parted in surprise.

"I've overheard someone talking about it, but it was during exam time so I didn't have enough time to research it."

I smiled humourlessly. "You could've searched day and night and you wouldn't find anything in the Hogwarts library since it's too easy to progress to Legilimency once you've mastered it. Basically, Occlumency let's you block Legilimens from entering your mind. In effect, it protects your thoughts and memories."

"Would I be right to assume that Legilimency is mind reading, then?"

"In essence, yes. You cannot lie to a Legilimens. Dumbledore uses them both all the time in order to run this school as well as he does. Voldemort used mainly Legilimency to find out whether his followers were lying to him. But what I want to teach you is Occlumency –"

"Wait a minute," said Tracey coolly. "Are you telling me that you can read what I'm thinking right now? That you've been reading all our minds since Merlin knows when?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Unlike Dumbledore and Voldemort, I have morals when it comes to these things. I never have and never will use Legilimency on you, Hermione or Terry. That's irrelevant anyway, since I'm going to attempt to teach you Occlumency anyway."

"This is why you don't tell me anything," said Tracey slowly.

"Snape came after me yesterday," I said, trying not to get angry just thinking of him stopping me hear the prophecy.

"How did he –"

"You told him." Tracey looked as though she wanted to argue but I raised a hand. "He used Legilimency on you and found out what I was up to. Frankly, not teaching you Occlumency would be the most stupid thing I could ever do."

"Give me the books and I'll teach myself."

"How can you test yourself?" She remained silent and nodded for me to continue. "Occlumency is probably the hardest branch of magic to master since you've got to change the way you see magic. I hope you understand how important this is."

Tracey frowned and thought on it a moment. Did she think I was asking her opinion? Luckily, I was saved from the potentially awkward revelation that she had no choice in this with a nod. Hopefully, she would manage the basics within a few weeks, before she came into contact with Lucius Malfoy or any other Legilimens.

"So when am I going to start these private lessons?" she asked, still unenthusiastic. I understood that she wanted to be able to achieve this without assistance. Hopefully, this would play into my hands since she would undoubtedly attempt to learn as much as she could on her own.

"Probably when we go to your house," I said, reluctantly rising to my feet. I stretched and yawned. My legs were stiff through disuse for most of the afternoon.

We walked into the Great Hall and found it more or less filled. I felt uneasy as at least a hundred eyes flicked towards us, most of them lingering. The most common expression was fear. I tried to ignore the rising feeling of satisfaction. It seemed that we had missed the main course. Indeed, most people were finishing off their desert.

"See you on the train," murmured Tracey before strutting to the Slytherin table, her head held high. I slouched off in the opposite direction towards the Gryffindor Table. I caught shreds of the hushed conversations from the Hufflepuff Table as I passed it.

"He reads minds, that's what I heard –"

"He's got an army of vampires –"

"He works under Sirius Black –"

"What're you talking about? He _controls_ Black –"

"He's You-Know-Who in disguise –"

"That scar's got dark magic written all over it –"

I glared at the Fourth Year Hufflepuff girl who had said this. She paled instantly and looked as though she wanted the ground to open up and swallow her. I had very little sympathy for Hufflepuffs. Most of them were untalented half-wits who merely made up the numbers. From what I had read in various books, Helga Hufflepuff was the most powerful of the four founders. If she could see what had become of her house, I'm sure she would have wished she never created it.

Wondering if the girl had actually wet herself, I moved quickly to the Gryffindor Table. I ignored the dirt looks I was receiving and scanned the table for Hermione. I found her sitting alone at the top of the table, with only a group of terrified first years in her vicinity. As I sat down, I realised that she was rather melancholy about the whole situation.

"I told you it was a bad idea," said Hermione.

"How is this different from any other day?" I asked, helping myself to some treacle tart. "Instead of ignoring you or insulting you, they're looking angrily at you. I don't know why you get so upset about this kind of crap."

Before Hermione could reply, Dumbledore stood up. The buzzing conversation died down and the remaining scraps of deserts completely dissipated. As usual, he administered his end of year speech with skill only he could. I found it difficult to concentrate on his congratulation of Slytherin for winning the House Cup.

Slytherin's ring. That was my main objective this summer. I had to get rid of Riddle's influence now that Voldemort was rumoured to be in the country. I could only shudder to think what the Dark Lord would do if he found out I had somehow managed to absorb his childhood memories. Nothing would stop me from accomplishing this goal. Nothing.

I was sure Davis knew something. While there was no way Voldemort trusted anyone explicitly, it was Lucius Malfoy who had slipped Ginny Weasley the diary. Since Davis was a fairly high ranking Inner Circle member, he would have information at the very least. All I had to do was secretly brew Veritaserum and get Tracey out of the way while I questioned him.

I was forced out of my musings by the rumble of students heading towards the Entrance Hall. I spotted Terry chatting merrily to Michael Corner and a group of his Ravenclaw friends. From his actions, it seemed he was telling the story of Ron's embarrassment. His antics had drawn a chorus of laughter from those listening. He caught me looking and winked.

Half an hour after the feast, I was in a horseless carriage with Hermione, Tracey and Terry, wondering when Dumbledore would insist I go back to the Dursleys. Since he had not confronted me already, I could only assume that he would find out far too late. By then, I would be in the Davis household which I could only assume was protected from unwanted visitors.

"_He is dead, my Lord."_

I looked at Terry and said, "what?"

Terry furrowed his brow. "What?" he repeated. Hermione looked up from the book she was reading over and Tracey made a small movement which told me she was interested.

"What do you mean 'what'?" I said slowly. There was something wrong here. Terry's voice was quite loud and clear when he had made that bizarre statement.

"You're the one who said 'what' first, mate," said Terry, his expression betraying nothing but confusion. Was this a joke? I glanced at Hermione, who seemed just as bewildered.

"Are you pulling my leg? You said something about someone being dead."

"No I didn't," said Terry. His mouth hung slightly ajar as it usually did when I told them about a particularly advanced spell. His eyes flitted between Tracey and Hermione, as if asking for help.

"Are you alright, Harry?" asked Hermione, worry lining her face.

Was I hearing voices? Was it really Terry's voice which I had heard? I tried to remember what it sounded like. It was definitely a male voice, but now that I thought about it, it was deeper than Terry could have ever managed. Was it Tom's memory? I suppressed the chilling thought and attempted to find a way to cover it up. Luckily, Tracey was on her toes.

"Maybe it was a snake," she said reasonably.

"That makes sense," said Hermione reassuringly. "You thought the basilisk was a human voice in second year, remember?"

"Yeah," I said distantly.

The rest of the carriage ride passed without incident, though I did catch the others shooting me furtive glances. As much as I would have loved to think that it was a snake, it sounded far too human. Nobody spoke as we boarded the gleaming Hogwarts Express. Tracey was stroking my arm reassuringly but this did very little to placate me.

Terry led us into a carriage filled with his Ravenclaw friends, as he always did. Despite their slight lack of maturity, I found the sixth year Ravenclaws quite pleasant. Indeed, I regularly wished the Sorting Hat had placed me there since they were smarter than the Gryffindors and less political than the Slytherins.

I stayed mostly silent as the innuendos flew around during the ride. It seemed that Corner had finally managed to ask out Cho Chang. The poor boy's only relief was when the woman selling refreshments came past.

The glorious sunshine had finally disappeared, replaced with the mild blanket of night when the train finally pulled up at King's Cross station. Tracey and I said our goodbyes to the Ravenclaws. Hermione embraced Terry, Tracey and I in turn and promised to write as much as she could. Terry said the same, and promised to drop by at some point.

Finally, only Tracey and I were left. "How are we getting there?" I asked.

"By floo," said Tracey, as we stepped out onto the platform. "Father will be waiting for us in the lounge." She appeared genuinely worried as she said this.

The platform was full of parents embracing their children and questioning them on their year. I felt a small knot in my stomach, as I often did on these occasions. Ignoring the feeling, I craned my neck towards the row of floo fires.

"Do you know the area at the edge of the wards?" I asked, hoping for an alternate method of travel. One which did not involve queuing up with heavy luggage and sprawling at the feet of a Death Eater.

"Yes, of course," said Tracey. "Why?" With one hand, I gripped onto my trunk and with the other, I grabbed Tracey's free hand.

"Picture it. Hold onto your luggage and think hard about what it looks like exactly. Do it now."

She closed her eyes. With a small 'pop' we had disappeared from the platform.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	9. Davis Manor

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle : silence.

* * *

_It cannot be seen, cannot be felt,  
Cannot be heard, cannot be smelt.  
It lies behind stars and under hills,  
And empty holes it fills.  
It comes first and follows after,  
Ends life, kills laughter._

* * *

– **CHAPTER NINE –**

**Davis Manor**

* * *

Three gigantic hoops came into sight as the country stretched out at my feet. I had only seen such a structure once before, at Hogwarts. Surrounding the house was finely trimmed grass and a medium-sized swimming pool. 

The Davis Manor stood at the brow of a steep, grassy hill overlooking wild country. I took a side-long glance at a dark river, its murky water glimmering under the full moon as it whistled past. Beyond the river, a gnarled fence marked the start of a series of pastoral fields.

The house itself stood at the brow of a small hill and seemed rather antiquated. Its dark bricks and solitude gave it an almost haunted feel to it. It did not stand tall, only three floors high, but it made up for this in surface area.

"Nice," I said, though the size seemed superfluous, especially considering only Mr. Davis and his wife lived there. Tracey shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly, though I could tell something was bothering her. It did not seem a good time to question her. I stayed silent.

We moved closer to the area. I felt a warm rush; the wards. There was an anti-Apparition, anti-intruder, anti-Muggle and an Unplottable Ward at the very least. There were probably other more ancient and discreet wards, but I could never hope to recognize them. Tracey looked at me anxiously, telling me she knew about the wards. The relief she portrayed gave me the feeling I had passed a test of some sort.

"I'm guessing it repels Muggle-borns," I said, trying not to reveal my disgust.

"Yeah," said Tracey in a small voice. "It used to repel all who weren't Pureblood before…you know…" The level of Pureblood supremacy angered me but I kept silent as we climbed the hill.

Only the soft trickling of water could be heard.

Tracey led me to the entrance. The front door was notably odd; it was perfectly circular and black for the most part. There was a crescent to the right of it, however, the shape and colour of the moon. I was impressed by the craftsmanship of it. Tracey placed her palm on the crescent and it shone brighter still. A blinding light appeared and when it had gone, the door was replaced by a circular hole with the words 'The House of Davis' inscribed around it.

"We bought this house from the Moons a few decades ago," muttered Tracey as we stepped into the opening. "Father loved the entrance so much, he kept it."

Despite its outward appearance, the Davis household was not at all gothic, or even gloomy. There was a very long corridor with moonlight from outside streaming in from well placed windows. I felt as though I had died and was on my way to the gates of Heaven. Judging by the intensity of the moonlight, it seemed as though there was a charm of some sort around the windows.

"Leave your trunk here," said Tracey quietly, "the house elf will deal with it." I obeyed her wordlessly and made sure not to bat an eyelid at the dismissive mention of a house elf.

There were numerous portraits on either side of the wall along the corridor, placed around the many doors, the occupants of which were either shaking their heads or tutting. I followed Tracey's example and ignored both them and the malicious feeling of being a magician who had not managed to pull a rabbit out of the hat. Strangely, I sensed absolutely no undercurrent of love for the Pureblood extravagance.

The carpet was very soft and red, clashing tastelessly with the beige walls. As we passed a door, it flung open magically. When we didn't enter, it closed again. I glanced up and my jaw dropped a little. There seemed to be no ceiling, instead the night sky was depicted in all its intricacies. As we moved, so did the moon. The difference in affluence between the Davises and the Weasleys was all too apparent.

"Show off," muttered Tracey darkly.

"What?" I said, tearing my eyes from the glowing moon.

"The house," said Tracey quietly, "it's showing off again. It does this whenever we have visitors. It's a bit of an attention-seeker."

Tracey stopped outside a pair of gleaming white double doors. These did not swing open, as the others did. I thought I could hear hushed voices from the other side, but Tracey did not seem to notice it. I decided not to comment in case I was imagining things again. I recalled irritably the incident on the horseless carriage.

Tracey raised a hand and knocked three times. The hushed voices stopped almost instantly. I noticed that she was far paler than usual – true worry marred her smooth features. I sighed. Maybe I should be as polite as possible for her sake if anything else. I had a feeling that Mr. Davis would not spare me the same conduct.

The doors swung open silently after what seemed an age. They revealed a circular room the size of the Gryffindor common room. The pale green walls bore only one painting, though it was almost life-size. Sat on a golden throne-like chair was a tall man with an aristocratic sneer plastered across his face. His robes were of the richest gold and complimented his mane of golden hair. He was looking down at both Tracey and I as if we had carpeted the floor with mud.

At the foot of the great portrait was a circular table of the deepest mahogany. On one side, stacked up neatly, was a pile of parchment. I realised that the table was a replica of the one depicted in the portrait as the door slammed shut behind us. Sitting on the throne-like chair was not the kingly man in the portrait, but another.

His hair was darker, more brown than gold, and his nose was slightly less prevalent. However, their posture and build were identical and the sneer was firmly embedded. He stood slowly.

"Father," said Tracey happily. She approached his desk, making sure her movement could not be construed as a run, and enveloped Mr. Davis in a hug. As I had guessed, their relationship was a loving one. Judging by the scowl of the man in the portrait, he did not approve.

When Mr. Davis broke the hug, he stared frostily at me with his cold, crystalline eyes, and I was only too happy to return the gaze. I could, in my peripheral vision, see Tracey biting her lip anxiously, looking between me and Mr. Davis.

"Father, this is–"

Mr. Davis raised a hand to silence her. Had it been anyone else, she would have blasted them.

"So, you're Potter," he said coldly, his eyes briefly flicking up towards my scar. I bit back a stinging retort. The imposing portrait, the throne-like chair, the stench of grandeur, his cool exterior. It was obvious that this man craved fear and I refused to give him the satisfaction. Next to Riddle, he was a lukewarm supporting act.

"He –"

"Don't interrupt, dear," said Mr. Davis quickly, his eyes fixed on me like a hawk eyeing a particularly juicy prey. "Go and greet your mother. She is leaving in a few minutes."

I felt my eyebrow raise. Mother? Last time I checked, Tracey's mother had not seen Mr. Davis since Tracey was a child. Why would Mr. Davis allow her into his home when he has a wife and hated everything about Mrs. Jones?

"She isn't my mother."

"Insolent child." The deep, refined voice came from the man in the portrait.

"This is neither the time nor place to discuss the matter," said Mr. Davis dismissively, though the twitch in his eye revealed the ire. "Go now."

Tracey pursed her lips before turning on her heel. She shot me a look which clearly said 'behave', to which I gave the slightest of nods.

Mr. Davis returned to his throne-like chair and indicated towards the small, wooden, hard-backed chair opposite the desk. Slowly, I took it, making sure my wand was within reach. I noticed a plaque underneath the portrait bearing the words 'Archimedes Davis, Minister for Magic.' My opinion of Archimedes was lowered further.

"So, Potter, you are in a relationship with my daughter." He stared at me, disapproval lining his ageing features.

"Yes, sir," I said, finding the effort of being polite a lot tougher than if it was a mere professor.

"You have been involved with my daughter for a year at least."

"That's right." His eyes narrowed, as though I had given the wrong answer.

"From what I gather," he said, glancing down at a piece of parchment, "you are in the house of Gryffindor." I felt like whipping my wand out and cursing his pomposity out of him. Instead, I nodded with reluctance. "You continued the relationship despite the misgivings of members of both your own house and that of the great Salazar Slytherin, is that correct?"

"You could say that."

"And now here you are, in a house which you know you are not welcome. Why, Potter, given your history do you choose to place unnecessary barriers in your life? Why my daughter?"

Despite his attempts at remaining distant, I knew his goal this summer was to break us up, and probably present Voldemort with my dead body.

"Your daughter is very special to me. If I cared for the fools who frown on what we have, I'd be with someone far less intelligent, beautiful and conscientious." Mr. Davis' eyes were narrowed to such an extent that it seemed as though he had a single, thin eyebrow.

"Would your decision have been influenced by the prosperity of my daughter's family?"

"I am a Potter, _sir,_ I'm hardly begging on the streets." Mr. Davis' lips thinned. I took great strength from Davis' loss of composure, however faint.

"Theodore," spat the portrait, "this Mudblood is unwelcome here. Do the family proud and deal with him." Mr. Davis ignored the command. Instead, he edged closer towards me, his markedly blue eyes contorted with intent.

"How did you do it?" he asked softly. I could feel a ticklish sensation; poorly cast Legilimency. I instantly raised the strongest Occlumency wards I knew – there was no need to take chances.

"Do what?"

"The Dark Lord was at the height of his powers," said Mr. Davis, the crackling fire reflected in his eyes. "Not even Dumbledore dared to duel Him unassisted. He laid waste to the strongest families and yet…"

"He couldn't kill a baby," I said, using very weak Legilimecy on the man.

He seemed to have very basic Occlumency skills, but Voldemort would not have allowed it to be infallible. It seemed the man could not pick up very weak and subtle Leglimency. There were flashes of a small creature, baby-like and scaly. I could not delve further without being detected.

"You see, Mr. Davis, magic has many forms. There are forms charged by certain emotions. Unfortunately, the _Dark Lord_ could not comprehend one particular form. In fact, Voldemort –"

"Do not say his name!" snarled Davis. His eyes widened and he looked at me with something close to disbelief.

"Why? Surely you don't respect the very man who held you under _false_ pretences."

Davis leaned back in his chair and looked as though he had been slapped. I could not force down the small smile tugging at the edges of my mouth. Archimedes the portrait was staring at me strangely, stroking his mane of a beard.

"You want to be careful, Potter. This is not Hogwarts, it is my house. It then follows that you will obey my rules. If you do not like the rules of a club, leave it."

"Sometimes leaving it isn't an option."

Davis stared at me silently, a deep crease chiselled into his forehead. Without any warning, I yawned. It was late and I was tired, but I could not lose the first battle of wits with Davis.

"You are dismissed. This room is out of bounds without explicit permission. Tracey will inform you of the other rules in the morning."

I left the room almost immediately, making sure to keep my composure. It was only when I was outside that I let out the breath I did not realise I was holding in.

"How did it go?"

I started and looked over towards the door at the end of the corridor from which Tracey was emerging. She was wearing a baggy pink t-shirt bearing a lewd slogan and tight grey shorts. In her hand was a half-eaten sandwich. I eyed her up and nodded appreciatively – she always looked best in Muggle clothes.

"I like what I see," I said smugly, approaching her. "Where's my room?"

"Upstairs. Want something to eat first?" I shook my head and stifled another yawn.

She shrugged and led me back to the entrance hall. A small door to the right I had not noticed earlier swung open and revealed a spiralling wooden staircase, moonlight pouring in out of a circular window embedded in the far-off ceiling. The light shimmered ceaselessly and gave the stairway a mystic ambiance. There was something about it which sent a cold chill down my spine.

Tracey again seemed unaffected and led me onto the first floor landing. There were no paintings here and the wooden floor was a light, polished shade of brown. While marginally less comfortable than the carpet, aesthetically it was vastly superior. The corridor here was far shorter than that of the ground floor and there were only two doors directly opposite on another. She opened the door on the left and beckoned me in.

The room was undoubtedly Tracey's. A kingly bed lay at the foot of an arched window, framed with mahogany. The wood from the corridor had encroached into the room and complimented the sea blue walls. Candles floated near the high ceiling. Their flickering lights illuminated a small desk, next to which was a large bookshelf filled almost to capacity. Her property, it seemed, had been unpacked, judging by the forlorn trunk at the foot of the bed. As expected, her room was immaculately clean.

"It's good to show off sometimes," I said, "but I did actually want to sleep."

Tracey, who was sitting cross-legged on her bed, patted a spot beside her. "Nobody's stopping you," she said with a grin.

"Father won't be pleased," I said, taking off my robes. While I was glad that I would be able to share a bed with her without prefects swarming around, it seemed an unnecessary risk considering her father's predisposition.

"Father will never know. Just put your stuff on the desk chair – the house-elf will deal with it."

I shrugged and followed her suggestion. Her bed was sublimely comfortable. Crawling under the covers, I sunk slightly into the warm mattress. The pillow, while pink, was quite cool and seemed to mould around my face and wafted a constant, if faint, stream of the perfume Tracey always wore around me. Undoubtedly the best moment was when my hostess slipped in beside me, her cool skin brushing against mine, her warm breath causing the hairs at the back of my neck to stand. It almost made me forget about my obsession with Slytherin's Ring. Almost.

The candles went out of their own accord and the darkness was so thick, I felt blind.

"Harry," breathed Tracey from the midst of the darkness.

"Yeah," I replied, stifling yet another yawn.

"What did you talk to father about?"

I sighed. For every carrot, there's a stick. "Weren't you listening in at the door?"

"No," said Tracey in a small voice. "The portraits would have told him." I lay in silence for a moment, weighing up the advantages and disadvantages of lying. "Harry?" Pretending to be asleep suddenly became a very tempting option.

"He's an interesting man, your dad."

"You can't dodge forever."

"He was looking for any underhand reasons why I'd be dating you. He doesn't understand my feelings; he's applying the laws of ambition to an area where they don't apply. On one hand, he likes the idea of his daughter dating a celebrity. On the other, he hates the idea of his daughter dating a half-blooded Potter, especially this Potter."

"Oh come on. He's not that bad."

"Love is blind," I said before giving in to my craving for sleep.

My sleep was plagued by brilliant rays of sunshine. I groaned and shut my eyes, hoping the sun would leave me to sleep in peace. No luck. I reluctantly propped myself up into a sitting position. Rubbing my eyes, I noticed that I was alone in the bed. I searched blindly for my glasses, finding them on a bedside table.

Tracey was definitely not in the room. There were a set of dark red robes laid out for me on the chair, still warm from when it was presumably ironed. I did not recognise them and wondered if Tracey had gone shopping. I restrained my urge to put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt – giving Mr. Davis a heart attack was not a good way to go…for now.

I managed to find my way downstairs to the dining room at the end of the ground floor corridor. I found that the house had lost much of its spectacle under the light of day, but none of its grandeur. The dining room was an elegant affair; an armless marble statue stood in the far corner and faced towards a long, polished table.

Sitting at the near end of the table was Tracey, wearing dark brown robes and eating toast. As I drew nearer, I noticed that an ironed copy of the _Daily Prophet_ was spread across the table. It wasn't the paper itself which caught my eye, but rather the picture. I quickened my pace, the dull thudding of my footsteps against the floorboards echoing across the room.

"Morning," mumbled Tracey as I slipped into the seat beside her.

I ignored her and stared blankly at the paper. Staring up at me was a thin bespectacled boy with jet black hair and brilliant green eyes. Staring up at me…was me, a few years ago. From the backdrop, I assumed it was my first visit to Diagon Alley. Yes, I could make out a gargantuan shadow which could only be Hagrid's.

_**Boy-Who-Lived Reported Missing**_

_Reports from officials at the Ministry of Magic have indicated that Harry Potter, 15, has disappeared from his home with his guardians, whose names cannot be revealed for legal reasons. _

_Potter was last seen on Platform 9 ¾ alighting the Hogwarts Express with a yet unnamed female friend. Instead of heading towards the Muggle world, he disappeared from sight and has not been seen since._

_Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has called for calm and urged any with information to go straight to the Ministry. "It is always difficult when a student is reported missing," said Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump. "His friends and relatives would truly appreciate any information leading to his safe return."_

I looked up from the paper, not knowing to feel irritation or bemusement. Tracey was smirking slyly. "Now that I've abducted you, you're going straight to the dungeons."

I laughed appreciatively and grabbed a slice of toast from a plate at the centre of the table. Much of the _Prophet_ was filled with embellished stories of my past and speculation on who could have taken me. From the escaped Death Eaters to a gang of guerrilla House Elves fighters, it seemed everyone was incriminated. I wondered briefly whether the press would make more money selling serialised novels.

"How has this rag survived all these years?" I said, pushing the newspaper away from me.

"Are you trying to tell me Dumbledore and the Dark Lord _haven't_ made a deal to get you out of the picture?" I smiled and finished off my breakfast.

"Ready for your first lesson?" I asked when I felt my stomach about to burst from the excess of bread.

"What lesson?" said Tracey airily. I gave her the most condescending look I could manage and she sighed. "There really is no need –"

"Which room should we practice in?" I said firmly.

"Mine," she said, her shoulders hunched in defeat.

The portraits shook their fists at us as we made our way back towards the staircase. Strangely, but to my relief, we did not encounter Davis. The house seemed asleep.

Once in her room, Tracey sat at the edge of her bed. I pulled up the chair and sat opposite her. She lifted a pale finger and scratched her nose, a sign I knew indicated irritation.

"Look at me," I said, and her icy gaze was fixed on me.

I felt a little overwhelmed – how was I meant to teach her this? I had only a hazy idea about how I myself had done it. What if there were special beginner's training that I had no knowledge of? I swallowed the doubts.

"nNw, what I want you to do is take a few deep breaths. Try and get as peaceful and comfortable as possible. Empty your mind of all worries and cares." She closed her eyes but the crease in her forehead remained. "Concentrate. Focus on keeping your mind clear; there is nothing to see there. Get ready now, I'm going in."

She opened her eyes and I instantly bore into them. The colour was rapidly becoming engulfed by black until it was all I could see. There were no memories, only an expanse of impregnable darkness. My surprise was only matched by my relief. It seemed like she had either done it before or she was a natural.

The darkness faltered and twitched, as though it were a curtain blowing in a light breeze. In one fluid motion, the curtains pulled apart and revealed a bright summer's day.

"Focus now," I said, refusing to dissipate the strength of the spell. "Get rid of these memories. Forget about them. They don't exist."

A tall man with brown hair and Tracey's sneer. He was a good deal younger than the man at the head of the Davis household, but it was undoubtedly Mr. Davis. He was standing over the huddled form of a woman. She was crying. His wand was held aloft and there was a mad glint in his eyes. The scene dissolved, replaced imperceptibly with another. A younger Tracey was holding hands with an equally young boy who sported a shock of blonde hair and, surprisingly, Muggle clothes. They were sitting on the banks of the river near Tracey's house. The boy said something and left. Tracey ran up the hill, tears flowing rapidly down her face. I felt a stronger resistance from her, but it was still not enough to repel me.

I decided that she would not be able to resist me and broke contact. My breath caught in my throat. Tracey had slipped off the bed and was on her knees. Her closed eyes had channels of sweat forming around them. Instinctively, I grabbed a handful of the bed sheets and wiped the sweat away. Far from being feverish, her skin was rather cold.

"Are you alright?" I said softly. Her breathing loosened and her eyes flickered open at the sound of my voice. I drew my wand and conjured a glass of water for her to drink. She took long, thankful gulps but did not meet my eyes.

"Tracey," I said. Her eyes were determinedly focussed on the empty glass cup in her hands. I was afraid that this would happen. That she would become afraid by how easily I had entered her mind. "I don't use Legilimency on the people I care about without their permission."

"Thanks for reminding me," she replied bitterly. I let out a long sigh and ran my hands through my hair.

"Occlumency is one of the most difficult forms of magic out there," I said, careful to keep my voice even. "For a first attempt that was bloody amazing." I knew instantly that this was the wrong thing to say. Tracey stiffened and her eyes glazed over. They were the chips of ice most students were accustomed to.

"I'm not a fool," she said coldly. I felt myself lean forward slightly but despite my confusion, I remained impenetrably calm. One of the more useful habits I had picked up from Tom.

"What are you talking about?"

"I should have seen this from a mile away," she said through gritted teeth. I resisted the temptation to Legilimise her, but I was becoming increasingly annoyed. She knew something I didn't.

"I honestly have no idea –"

"Don't think I don't know what these lessons are about," she interjected. I had to breathe and quell the rush of anger. How dare she cut me off? No, I have to stay calm and focused.

"What are they about?"

"It's about your obsession to know everything," she said, her eyes glistening with angry tears. "You can't stand being kept in the dark. I ask you who you talk about in your sleep and there's no response. I ask you about your relatives, there's practically no response. How you manage to learn so many more spells than the rest of us in the same amount of time is off-limits too. But when the shoe's on the other foot, I'm expected to give you a straight answer.

"So then there's two problems. First is that you can't accept it when I ask for space and then, of course, there's your morals telling you not to rape my mind. Simple solution to both problems is to give me this stupid façade of a lesson. Good plan. Bravo."

I stared at her. Her quivering hair, her watering eyes, her heaving chest. I didn't understand. I needed to put myself in her shoes, stop thinking about it as me protecting her. Then it clicked. I realized why she was so upset. I had seen some of her most intimate memories, memories she had tried to forget. Private memories. What would _I_ have done if the shoe was on the other foot? What if she had found out about Tom or seen memories of the Dursleys? I shuddered at the thought.

"I think you need to take a rest. Clear your head, have some chocolate."

"_Please…please don't kill me!"_

I looked up quickly. "I'm not going to kill you," I said, not believing Tracey was so delirious that she thought I would harm her. Strangely, her lines of anger seemed to have turned into that of confusion.

"_Please…I'm too young to die…please…"_

My breathing became heavier and my throat felt as though it was getting smaller. Her lips were moving. Her lips were moving in time to the voice. But then why did she look confused?

"_I-I'll be loyal to you, name your price. Anything…anything…"_

"This isn't funny, Tracey," I said shakily. "There isn't a crowd here to entertain."

"_I always liked you…you can't do this to me, please…please Tom…"_

Tom? This was Tom's memory? How? How was he doing this to me? I closed my eyes and clutched at my forehead. Occlumency. I need to calm down. This was not real. It was an illusion. I could make it leave at will. My eyes peeled open.

I was on my knees. Dark, curly hair. Sweet perfume. Tracey. She was breathing heavily, making no effort to hide her worry and panic.

"Harry," she said, her voice feverish and high-pitched, "baby, are you alright? It was just the shock, I didn't mean it."

I smiled weakly. My first objective was to prevent Tracey from thinking I was completely mad. I could not hold the smile.

"What happened?" she asked, her cool palm on my face. A cold feeling which had nothing to do with her hand washed over me.

I didn't know.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	10. The Madness of Harry Potter

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle : darkness.

I do not apologise for the length of this chapter.

* * *

_Brothers and Sisters I have none,  
but this man's father is my father's son_

* * *

– **CHAPTER TEN –**

**The Madness of Harry Potter**

* * *

July rose and fell without ever touching the manor. The river continued to whistle, the grass continued to flourish ever greener and the house continued to sit nonchalantly at the brow of the hill.

I had decided not to mention the incident of Tom's memory and, thankfully, Tracey did not press the issue. It was almost as though it had never happened. Almost. I could not rid myself of the feeling of being followed. Whenever I entered a room, I examined it thoroughly, flinching at every sudden movement. Was I going mad? Or was it Mr. Davis somehow bending the house to his bidding?

The voices were worse. Every few days, I would hear the sound of screaming. The sound of torture. The sound of Tom's victims. I usually managed to use Occlumency, but it took time – it was almost as though they were no longer figments of my imagination. They were becoming real. I refused to believe this to be true. The thought was too frightening. It caused my heart to sear with pain and even kept me up some nights. This could never have anything to do with Mr. Davis.

Mr. Davis was scarcely seen out of his room. Over the course of the month, I had seen him only a handful of times – a blessing for us both. There were always voices coming from the room, voices that did not resemble that of the portrait's. It usually involved the velvety tones of Lucius Malfoy and other suspected Death Eaters. During the times I had managed to eavesdrop, there was no useful information. Mundane conversations about the Ministry, dull rants at Dumbledore and plans to push through Pureblood propaganda constituted almost every meeting. So routine were the exchanges, I suspected they were speaking in code. It was then that I decided to brew some Veritaserum.

The potion was extraordinarily difficult. Not least because I had to keep it hidden from all the occupants of the house – even Tracey. I was forced to deprive myself of some sleep in order to raid Davis' stock and brew it precisely. Mistakes would render the potion useless, maybe poisonous. While Davis' death was of no concern to me, it would end everything between Tracey and I. Towards my birthday, it was very near completion. This gave me only a few days at most to get rid of Tracey and catch Mr. Davis alone.

Thankfully, his wife was, according to Tracey, on holiday with her family. She had left the night we arrived. She did this every year, Tracey assured me. I found that hard to believe.

When not hearing voices, eavesdropping and brewing illegal potions, Tracey and I wasted our days relaxing in the confines of our privileged surroundings. We explored the hectares of land, unwound beside the pool and visited a variety of wizarding landmarks around the country – from Rowena Ravenclaw's suspected home village to the newly built Magical War Museum in London.

I slipped out of bed and stretched my arms. As usual, Tracey was still lying in bed, sound asleep. I rubbed my bleary eyes and slipped on my glasses. As the room came into focus, I stifled a yawn and made for the door. The dining room was empty, as it usually was, but breakfast was already laid out on the table. Suddenly, I stopped and looked around. But this had nothing to do with Tom.

In the far corner of the room were a small pile of presents. Who were they for? Then I remembered. It was my birthday. Wondering how I could have forgotten, I strode over and picked up the smallest present. I gasped. Inside a black box embroidered with gold, was a small, silver locket attached to a discreet chain. Engraved on the front in beautiful calligraphy were the letters _'HT'_. It contained a picture of Tracey and I at the museum, Ravenclaw's golden feather quill in the background. A warm, vaguely familiar feeling rushed through me like a swig of hot chocolate on a bleak winter's day. Before it could reach my eyes, I placed it around my neck and moved on to the next present.

Attached to a rectangular gift was a note in small, neat handwriting. It read:

_Dear Harry,_

_Happy birthday! Sixteen is an important year for Muggles. I won't rabbit on about France like I did in my last letter, don't worry. I hope you like the present. Say hi to Tracey for me._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

I smiled, remembering the foot-long letter I had received a few days ago. The present was, as I guessed, a book with the title _'Muggle Eye for the Wizard Guy'._ I snorted and made a note to read it as soon as possible.

I spent at least ten minutes unwrapping presents and reading birthday greetings from a number of friends, including a strange wizarding sex toy from Terry, a wizard's hat from Daphne, a wand holster from Blaise and a selection of books from various Ravenclaw friends. Finally, only one present remained. The largest of them all.

Stuck to the midnight wrapping paper was a scrap of parchment. Scrawled on it were the words: _'Your need is greater than mine.'_ I frowned and looked at the present for any indication of who sent it. There was none. Was it dangerous? No, it would not have made it into the manor if it were. Maybe it was sanctioned by Davis? No, if he wanted me dead, he would have done it already.

I suddenly became aware of how loud I was breathing.

I slowly unwrapped the paper. It peeled away without resistance. Staring at me was my reflection. But it was not a mirror. In the background of the image of my face was a silvery light shining from its contents, which were bright, whitish silver, and cloud-like, moving ceaselessly. I had a distinct feeling that it was like light made liquid - or like wind made solid. Holding the strange liquid was a shallow stone basin with odd runes and symbols carved around the edge. It seemed distinctly familiar, I had read about it somewhere.

"It's a Pensieve." I almost jumped out of my skin. The silvery light rocked from side to side, threatening to overspill. Tracey was standing beside me, wearing a purple dressing gown, peering over my shoulder into the Pensieve.

"Morning, by the way," I said crabbily.

"Happy birthday," she said softly, wrapping her arms around my midriff. "Did you like what I got you?" She ran a finger along the length of the chain.

"Yeah, it's really beautiful, but two expensive gifts is too much."

"What are you talking about? I only got you the locket." Truth. Who on earth would buy me something as expensive and dangerous as a Pensieve? I could not think of anyone.

"There wasn't a name…"

"Do you think it was maybe one of the teachers?"

"No, they don't get paid enough to just splash out on a student."

"What about Dumbledore?"

I considered this. There was a possibility – he had the money for it, certainly. But why me? Not only is it highly unprofessional, but he isn't stupid enough to give someone he suspects such a powerful weapon. He gave me the invisibility cloak in my first year, though. But that wasn't his in the first place.

"No," I said, "he's not that stupid."

"Just because you don't know who it's from, doesn't mean you can't use it. Put it on the dining table, your arms must be aching." Strangely, the bowl weighed very little, but I placed it on the table nonetheless.

I stared into its depths and followed the patterns of the silvery light, transfixed. While I did not know how it worked, I could appreciate the aura of power surrounding it. "Do you know how this thing works?"

Tracey, who was also staring into the bowl, nodded. "Father has one. I've seen him using it once or twice." I felt my eyebrows raise slightly. My heart started racing. Davis had a Pensieve! This was the best news I had heard all holiday. "He puts his wand next to his temple, closes his eyes and takes out a silvery thing. It doesn't look that hard."

A wonderful thought hit me. This meant I could rid myself of Riddle's memories once and for all! All the nights reliving his life would be a thing of the past. I'd be me again. I would stop hearing feral voices. It was perfect. Hand shaking with repressed excitement, I raised my wand to my temple. I pictured the memory of Riddle creating his first Horcrux. The murder of the poor old woman in the Forbidden Forest. I slowly pulled the wand away.

I winced as searing pain like the thudding of a migraine concentrated on the spot my wand had left. The anguish remained until I had completely removed the memory. I extended my arm and stared at the strand of silver. I tried to recall the memory, but all I could see were blurry figures. I smiled. This was almost too perfect.

I carefully lowered the memory into the Pensieve. It moved closer and closer to the glowing surface. Then I stopped.

Did I really want to do this? Of course I did. Anything to get rid of Riddle.

_I made you what you are._

What would life be like without Riddle? Better off. But would it? I don't need Tom Riddle. Who will do the schoolwork? I didn't need Riddle in my first year and I don't need him now. I'll keep doing well without him.

What about Tracey?

I looked up at Tracey. Did she like Harry Potter? My blood ran cold. Was she in love with Riddle? It was not possible.

_Of course it's possible._

My breathing quickened. Tracey was gone. Standing by the door, twirling his wand quite lazily was a tall, handsome boy with long fingers and dark eyes. It was not possible. No. It could not be happening. But there he was, right down to the sleek, jet-black hair; Tom Riddle.

"This isn't happening," I said quietly. "You're a figment of my imagination, that's all."

_Who are you talking to, Harry?_

I tried calming down and blocking him out, but it did not work. I tried to think of something else and faze him out. Again, it failed. I tried the most powerful mental shield I could manage. It was as though I had not invented him.

"You need me, Potter," said Riddle coldly, smiling broadly.

"You're wrong," I said shrilly. His eyes never left my face, it unnerved me.

_Harry, are you alright?_

"Am I?" he asked pleasantly. "But why? I have given you so much…"

"You've given me nothing!" I shouted, trying to convince myself more than anyone.

_You're really starting to scare me now._

"Intelligence is precious," said Riddle calmly. "You owe me so much, Potter, so very much."

"I owe you nothing!" I said, my mouth going very dry.

_Harry, please listen to me._

"You have a beautiful girlfriend I see," he said. "A Slytherin, too. Does she love you? Would she love you if she knew it was I who made you attractive to her? That it was the noble blood of Slytherin which had enticed her?" I stared at him.

"I'm going to kill you," I said, shaking from the anger coursing through my body. My wand was out. My heart was pounding. He was lying. He had to be lying.

_Put your wand back in its holster, honey._

"Kill whom? Tom Riddle, or Harry Potter? How far will you go?"

I had never felt such hatred. All I could see was Tom Riddle's face in a sea of red. The blood was pounding in my head. I had to get rid of him. I had to prove myself. Me. Harry.

"_Avada Kedavra!"_ A pale jet of light, tentatively green, rushed out of my wand. It struck him in the heart.

"Resistance is futile," he said, smiling.

With that, he vanished.

The red anger rolled away. I blinked and refocused. My heart stopped.

Lying spread-eagled on the ground where Riddle had been seconds before was Tracey.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	11. The Torture of a Bad Conscience

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle: my son.

I can only apologise for the unacceptable length of time between this chapter and the last. As a token of my apology, I will upload three chapters today.

* * *

_This is as light as a feather,  
Yet no man can hold it for long._

* * *

– **CHAPTER ELEVEN –**

**The Torture of a Bad Conscience is the Hell of a Living Soul**

* * *

"Tracey!" I yelled, voice shaking in fear and alarm.

No. She can't be dead. Please don't be dead. I need her. I love her. A terrible thought diffused into my mind. It was me. It was my killing curse. I had done this. No!

I sunk to my knees. She can't be dead. I crawled up to her, tears stinging at my eyes. I could not see straight. It was Riddle. Riddle had done this. Not me, Riddle. What difference did it make?

"Tracey," I said huskily. "Tracey. I love you, alright? I've said it."

I stared down at her still face. Her eyes were wide, her mouth a small 'o'. I lifted her into my arms and cradled her head. Her skin was cold. Tears fell unchecked onto her smooth, pale face. Calm down. I need to calm down and think properly. Occlumency was useless.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO MY DAUGHTER?"

My eyes flicked towards the doorway where Mr. Davis stood, fury emanating from his every syllable. He brought his wand down like a knife and I felt the wind knock out of me. The next thing I knew, I was flying backwards and slammed against the wall. I cried out as my back screamed in pain.

Davis bent over and muttered a few spells over Tracey. He lifted her wrist and checked her pulse. His relief told me all I needed to know. She was still alive.

I felt my face flush with a cruel mix of embarrassment and gratification. How could I be so stupid? She was not dead. Of course she wasn't. The curse wasn't strong enough. I tried to move, but even the slightest movement sent fresh waves of excruciating stinging through me.

I looked around desperately for my wand. It lay within stretching distance, under the edge of the dining table. I took a deep breath and slowly stretched my arm. It was too far away. I had to move myself. Preparing myself for the flood of pain, I leaned forward. I tried to block out the thudding anguish and leaned forward even further.

My beloved wand was closer and closer to my outstretched hand. It was like trying to catch a snitch. Closer, closer. Just one more stretch…

My heart sunk. A green slipper had appeared and kicked the wand away. There was no way I was going to reach it now.

"You have some explaining to do, Potter."

I was forced back against the wall. This time, I could not move at all. It was as though I had been cemented in place. I glared up at Davis, my hatred for him rising with every passing second. How dare he? How_dare_ he?

"I have tolerated your presence in this house because of my daughter. Now I find that there has been an attempt on her life. Give me one reason why I shouldn't execute you right now." He drew closer to me, his wand poised like a snake before striking its prey.

What could I do? My eyes flicked around the room. I needed something, anything. But even if there was something, what could I do with it? I was stuck. "If you wanted to kill me," I said in a hoarse whisper, "you would have done it by now."

"Why would I reward you with a quick death?" He dug his wand into my chin, his eyes swimming with wild rage.

I stared helplessly at my wand, lying around listlessly, too far away to help. Or was it? I had only once used my wand without touching it, and that was only a _Lumos_ spell after a particularly bad Riddle memory. "If you take my life, yours is forfeit."

He removed his wand from my chin and flicked it briskly upwards. I bit my lip. My heart felt as though an invisible hand was squeezing it. I couldn't scream. I couldn't give that disgusting worm the satisfaction. I clenched my eyes shut as it worsened. I was sure it was going to burst. Suddenly, the pain was relieved and I felt very sick.

"So, Potter, what were you saying?"

"Kill me and you will have to answer to Voldemort," I whispered. Every breath was painful. I had to save my energy. I glanced over at my wand and with every fibre of my being willed it towards me. There was no change.

"Have I not warned you not to speak his name?" said Davis, shuddering with ire. "Now face the consequences." He muttered something and moved his wand in a circle. There was a flash of blinding purple light.

I screamed. It was almost as though a gargantuan dog was biting chunks out of my side. I yelled until my voice was hoarse. The white hot agony was threatening my consciousness. My vision was dimming. Anything was better than this. Let death take me, I thought, anything to escape this. As before, it was suddenly released.

"I wouldn't want you to miss the party, would I? The fun has only just begun."

I blinked rapidly. I had to keep consciousness. My body was twitching. It must have been an after-effect of the pain. I mustered all the energy I could and focussed on my wand. Maybe I was hallucinating, but it seemed as though the wand had twitched.

"You'll wish the Dark Lord had killed you before I'm finished with you!" Yes! My wand was slowly turning towards Davis. My neck almost broke under the force of a painful blow from the man. I could not break concentration. Not now.

I mustered all the concentration I could, ignoring the torturous agony. I took a sharp, rasping breath and shouted, "_STUPEFY!"_

Nothing. Before I could even contemplate the ramifications of failure, a jet of red light burst out of my beloved wand and arced through the air. It struck Davis in the small of the back. As he collapsed, the spell holding me in place was released and I fell to the floor.

Despite the pain, despite my shuddering muscles, I smiled. It had worked.

Wincing, I crawled towards my wand. As my hand grasped around it, I felt the relief instantly. Breathing uneasily, I patchily cast the only pain-relieving charms I knew. It was enough to be getting on with. After shakily pulling myself up to my feet, I walked over to Tracey's unconscious form. I lifted her pale hand and felt her pulse. It was a little slow, but otherwise fine. Why was she so cold, then?

My attention reverted back to Davis. He would pay for his actions. There was no doubt in my mind. I would make him rue the day he laid his wand on me. But I would not let the opportunity to get information pass so readily under the veil of retribution. Finally, it was time for me to get some answers.

I rushed through the ground floor corridor and burst into the potion's lab. The air was notably thicker here, though there was no visible steam. The walls were lined with glass cupboards full of small, labelled vials. On the stone floor were four cauldrons, all of which appeared empty. I snatched a handful of empty vials from one of the cupboards and approached the cauldron furthest from the door.

"Show me the truth," I whispered, holding my wand over the rim. In the blink of an eye, the cauldron was filled with the colourless truth serum. I filled all the vials and placed them in my pyjama pockets. All except one.

I returned to the dining room to find that nothing had changed. Right down to the enticing breakfast, it was exactly the same as I left it. Wasting no time, I strode over to Davis and forced his mouth open. Three drops of Veritaserum were placed carefully onto his limp tongue.

_"Enervate."_

Davis opened his eyes. His face was slack, his gaze unfocused. I knelt before him, so that our faces were level.

"Can you hear me?" Davis' eyelids flickered.

"Yes," Davis muttered. I smiled weakly – the potion was working. But I needed to test it.

"What family did you buy this house from?" I asked, careful to speak clearly and keep my wand within reach.

"The Moons."

I paused and thought for a moment. There were so many things I wanted to ask. "Have you had any contact with the escaped prisoners?"

"Yes."

"Does it have anything to do with the Dark Lord?"

"Yes."

My breathing quickened. "Explain."

"The Dark Lord and his most trusted servant conducted the escape. He was of the opinion that surrounding himself with his Inner Circle once more was a key objective, especially after the failure of last year."

"What failure?"

"The failed infiltration of Hogwarts. The plan was to place one of Master's servants as the Defence of the Dark Arts professor. However, Moody was inaccessible." Voldemort had tried to get an inside man at Hogwarts? That seemed a remarkably risky plan for a man with no body.

"How did they escape?"

"The Dark Lord's influence stretches far and wide. The Head Guard was a friend of his at Hogwarts." I gasped in pain as the face of one of Riddle's friends came to the forefront of my mind. "Before the Ministry officials could react, the ten were miles clear of the prison." I frowned. The plan seemed so simple it was absurd. Had Dumbledore never kept a close on eyes on the careers of Riddle's classmates?

"How long have you been reporting to the Dark Lord?"

"He summoned us for the first time in December. Before that, it was only his most loyal servant who knew of his location."

"Your master has managed to insure his life. Tell me about what he has done to Slytherin's Ring to achieve this."

"The Dark Lord keeps his secrets secret."

"But you must know something about his Horcruxes?" I said, taken aback by the void of information. Davis looked at me blankly. I started to get annoyed. "Surely you know that he has split his soul?"

"He has told us nothing. However, I assume that he has entrusted his most loyal supporters with the protection of valuable artefacts." I leaned forward, not daring to believe it. This was the best news I had heard all year. But it did not make sense. Tom Riddle did not trust anyone but himself. Why would the adult Voldemort be any different? Had the effects of the Veritaserum worn off? Was he lying?

I decided to change tack. I had to use the information that couldn't lie. The Pensieve.

"Where do you keep your Pensieve?"

"In the bottom drawer of my desk. The password to access it is 'Tracey Susan Davis'." I blinked at the sentimentality and imprudence of the password. I had a horrible feeling that he was lying again. Either that or I had given him more credit than was due. I stunned and bound him just in case.

My feet led me onto the well-beaten path of the corridor. However, this time, the journey was short. I stopped outside the double doors of Davis' study and entered.

The room was exactly the same as my last encounter with it, down to the last fibre of rich red carpet. I kept my eyes away from the grand portrait with great difficulty and approached the desk. I did not know why I was so wary of the portrait; there was nothing he could do.

I rested briefly on the throne-like chair and gasped. I sunk into a perfectly comfortable position and a rush of warmth spread through me like a soup on a cold winter's day.

"Comfortable?" drifted in the powerful voice of the former Minister.

"Perfectly," I said curtly.

There were three drawers, made of the same opulent mahogany as the rest of the table. Bordered around each of them were beautiful calligraphic engravings of the finest gold. I ran a finger along it. It felt both rough and smooth under the touch.

"There is no way in without a password," said Archimedes the portrait with a hint of disdain. If, as I suspected, the password was false, there was now the gloating of the portrait to deal with.

"Tracey Susan Davis," I said, hand still on the top drawer. At first, nothing. Then, the golden script began to glow. The lettering began to merge and move towards the centre. Soon, all that was left was a golden rectangle. How was I supposed to open it? As if it had heard my question, the gold sunk into the wood and carved out a hollow.

I resisted the temptation of turning around and sending a smug look at the former Minister's portrait. Placing my hand into the hollow, I found a small platform to take a hold of. The drawer came out surprisingly smoothly.

"Where did you learn that password?" I pointedly ignored him. Inside the drawer was a single object. While the runes were slightly different and the stone marble, it was undoubtedly a Pensieve.

I wrapped my hands around it. The cold, smooth surface sent shivers down my spine.

"Don't touch it!" I turned to face him for the first time, leering in annoyance.

"Or what? Are you going to come out of that painting and save your pathetic relative?" I registered the shock on Archimedes face before turning around. I wouldn't let a wretched portrait ruin this for me, the goal of my summer holiday.

I bent over and looked into the Pensieve. I suddenly realised I had no idea how to conjure memories. Legilimency was out of the question. Not only was the Pensieve an inanimate object, but there was nothing to focus on. After all, there were no eyes. What was I even looking for? Probably some sort of conversation between Voldemort and Davis, if such a thing would be placed in a Pensieve.

I pulled out my wand and prodded the surface. The surface of the silvery stuff inside the basin began to swirl very quickly. I bent closer. The silvery substance had become transparent; it looked like glass. I looked down into it, expecting to see the stone bottom of the basin – and saw instead a small, dark room.

The fire was the only source of light in the room; it was casting long, spidery shadows upon the walls. There were two men in the room. I could make out one – he was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at the back of his head. I bent over lower, so that my breath was steaming up the transparent surface of the Pensieve and my nose was threateningly close to touching it. The other man was standing near the door, his face covered by a shadow. The balding man was bending over a pile and robes and was putting the chair, which held it, into place.

I leant even closer, tilting my head, trying to see what was in the bundle of robes. The tip of my nose touched the strange substance into which I was staring. Davis' office gave an almighty lurch and I was thrown forward and pitched headfirst into the basin. But my head did not hit the stone bottom. I was falling through something icy and black; it was like being sucked into a whirlpool.

And then suddenly I found myself standing on a rotting hearthrug. A sudden movement by my leg caused me to jump. Curled up beside me was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long, with a diamond pattern running down its length. Was it perhaps Nagini?

A short, balding man with greying hair, a pointed nose and small, watery eyes was eyeing the snake with a mixture of fear and alarm on his face. The other man, I realised, was wearing the white mask. The mask of the Death Eater.

"Do you see my Death Eater standing there, Wormtail?" said a voice from the bundle of robes. It belonged to a man – but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. The watery-eyed man, presumably Wormtail, twitched his head towards the masked man; presumably Davis, considering this was his memory.

"Y-yes, my Lord."

"One day, you may hope to equal him in power and stature." There were traces of Riddle in the voice; enough to leave no doubt that it was Voldemort who was somehow under the cover of the robes. "If you do as you Lord asks, he will in turn reward you." Wormtail muttered something unintelligible, but his face conveyed an undertone of envy.

"'_I found you!'_ Come now, Wormtail, would you have returned to me had you not heard of Black's escape? It was cowardice, not unwavering loyalty, which led to your search for me. I am astonished I remain relatively unharmed following your clumsy care. However reluctantly, you did return to me, and Lord Voldemort will not forget."

There was a look of vulgar hope in the eyes of Wormtail. I instinctively pitied him to a point where I wished to put him out of his misery. "Y-You're not going to punish me for last year?"

"You were given a simple task. You failed to perform even this pathetic mission and thus ruined months of planning. For that, there will be punishment. The time is not now to discuss this, however. A wizard better than you is waiting on us and it would not be polite to keep him waiting. Leave us."

Wormtail was now certainly resentful and said, "But, my Lord–"

"There will be no arguments." His tone was relatively light before, even humoured. These words, however, were laced with icy venom. "I see the dissent in you. Remember, Wormtail, that enrolment in this _family_ can only be overturned at the moment of your death."

"Y-Yes, my Lord." Without any further hesitation, he scuttled from the room.

"Theodore, my slippery friend," said Voldemort quietly. "Do you see what has become of me? Do you see what has become of the greatest wizard of all time?"

Davis stiffened and stepped forward uncomfortably. He peeled off his mask. "Master, you are looking better," said Davis, a hint of unease I had never heard in his voice.

"Liar! I have assembled my most loyal of Death Eaters and still I have no body. It is with great hope that I turn to my loyal Wizengamot member."

Davis had not moved, but his eyes widened ever so slightly. "I have tried convincing the Wizengamot to alleviate Dumbledore's power over the boy, but–"

"No, Theodore, I did not summon you for matters relating to the Wizengamot." Davis blinked in surprise and relief. "I turn to my loyal Death Eater now for a far more furtive matter. This mission is of utmost importance. There are to be no mistakes."

"Anything, my Lord."

"You know of the ring I placed in your care. I trust it is still safe?"

"Of course, my Lord." My heart beat slightly faster. Here it was. The information I had been craving for weeks.

"Your primary objective is to keep it safe. My spy at Hogwarts tells me Dumbledore has been investigating my past. That pestilent Muggle-lover may one day discover its location. This_cannot_ happen."

"I understand, my Lord."

"Your secondary objective is both simple and immensely difficult. Word has reached my ears of a relationship between your daughter and Harry Potter." I gasped at the unexpected mention of my name. "Why did you not tell me of this?"

"I was unaware of the relationship until very recently, my Lord. Even then, I assumed you were not interested in Potter's love life."

"Never assume, particularly concerning the affairs of your Lord. Any relationship of Potter's is of significance; it represents a weakness. The boy himself is well protected, as are close friends of his. However, new sources of love are not. Moreover, if the girl in question happens to be the daughter of a Death Eater of mine, I expect the information to be made known to me with the utmost haste."

"I apologise, my Lord."

"Further apologies for your blunder will be unnecessary. Your secondary objective is twofold. Firstly, I want Potter at your residence during the summer. He is an orphan living with relatives whom he despises. For this reason, you will not need to push your daughter. She will come to you with the proposition, and you will accept, on the condition that nobody outside of herself and Potter know.

"Once there, you will be no less civil as you would ordinarily. You will not give him any hints; his natural curiosity will lead him to me." I stared at the bundle of robes that was Voldemort.

"I don't understand, my Lord."

"I scarcely expect you to. Follow my instructions exactly and you will be rewarded above all others. Fail me, and I will be displeased. If my ring is damaged, the punishment is your life. You are dismissed."

As Davis put on his mask and swept from the room, I looked up and wondered how to escape the Pensieve. Suddenly, I felt myself rising into the air; Voldemort's room dissolved around me; for a moment, all was dark, and then I felt as though I had done a slow-motion somersault, suddenly landing flat on my feet in what seemed like the dazzling light of Davis' sunlit office. The stone basin was shimmering on the table in front of me.

The contents had returned to their original, silvery white state, swirling and rippling beneath my gaze.

Davis was in direct contact with Voldemort. He knew where one of the Horcruxes was. Veritaserum was not cracking open the information. Maybe I wasn't asking the right questions?

"It will take force of will to break him." I turned my head. Archimedes the portrait was wearing an unfathomable expression. I frowned. Was that advice? Or a warning?

There was no time to contemplate. The stunner could be removed any second. I ran my tongue along my dry, cracked lips. I strode out of the room. I was resolved. The information will be leaving his lips no matter the consequences.

The dining room was much the same as I had left it. Tracey was lying in a crumpled heap. I felt a twinge of guilt. In my obsession with the Horcruxes, I had forgotten about her. She seemed to be regaining some colour and her chest was slowly rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For that, I was glad.

To my relief, Davis was still unconscious. Feeling no remorse, I wrenched open his mouth and forced four more drops of Veritaserum down his throat.

"Do you know the location of your Master's artefact?"

"Yes."

"Where is it?"

Davis' eyes bulged and he began shaking slowly.

"WHERE IS IT?"

Davis' shuddering became progressively more violent. Blood trickled from his lip. How? How was he resisting the curse?

"At…the…no…fuck…you…"

I stared at him, hardly believing it. All I could hear was the pumping of blood in my ears. I needed that information at all costs. I drew my wand.

"How many times have you met with Voldemort?"

Silence.

Then, "how many times…don't say his name." The Veritaserum had failed. I glanced down at my wand. There was only one option left.

_Resistance is futile…_

"One last chance," I said quietly, staring at my quivering wand. "Where is it?"

Davis cold eyes bore into mine. He tried to struggle against the restraints I had placed on him. Deeming it futile, he blinked slowly. "Why would I tell a pathetic orphan?"

I flicked my wand, sending a cutting hex at the man. It struck him across the cheek. Blood trickled from the gash. Davis smiled. His tongue roamed out of his mouth and intercepted one of the crimson drops. "Come now, Potter, even you can do better."

I stayed calm. I had to focus on the objective. I sent a choking hex at the Death Eater. His mouth hung open and his eyes seemed to pop out of his head. I stopped it before any serious injury could be incurred. He took long, raspy breaths and coughed stridently. It was no worse than he what would have done to me, I reassured myself.

"Not bad, but nowhere near good enough."

I thought of taking a limb, but dismissed the idea almost instantly. Either the shock would render him useless or I would be sick. The Imperius Curse was of no use, he was too strong. I settled on a bone breaking curse to the leg. He screamed in agony.

"YOU CAN END THIS! TELL ME WHERE IT IS!"

Davis had turned a sickly colour and had his eyes half-closed. "Are you…going to keep barking…little dog," he wheezed, "or are you…going to bite?"

_There is no good or evil…_

I had to get the information. I had to focus on the ends, not the means. I somehow knew it was going to come to this, the moment I entered the room. I raised my wand. I looked Davis in the eye. I needed him to squirm with excruciating pain. I needed him to feel the ultimate pain.

_"Crucio!"_

I watched motionless as he screamed and writhed wildly. I waited a few seconds before lifting the curse. "Tell me where it is," I said calmly. Strangely, I felt nothing. No guilt, no vindication, nothing.

"Never," said Davis, voice barely a whisper.

_"Crucio!"_

I held the curse for at least a minute. His usually pale skin was slowly reddening. His screams were hoarser. His pupils seemed to be disappearing into his head. I lifted the curse.

"Just tell me the area. There'll be no memory for your master to find."

"C-can't…can't…" Davis was having trouble breathing. I had to strain to hear him now. I still felt no remorse.

_"Crucio!"_

Davis' mouth hung open but no sound escaped. I suddenly had an idea. I was sure it would work. While he was under the Cruciatus Curse, there was no way he could resist an attack of Legilimency, no matter how weak it was. I took two steps towards him. I would give him one more chance. The curse was lifted.

"Tell me." Davis was twitching uncontrollably, his blood-shot eyes focussed over my shoulder. He sealed his shuddering lips shut in one final act of defiance.

_"Crucio!"_

I grabbed his chin and forced him to look at me. I looked deep into his dark eyes. His pupils grew wider until they engulfed the light of the dining room. There were a whirlwind of memories spinning out of control. I saw flashes of countryside, fleeting rays of sunshine and glimpses of grand buildings. Since he was desperately trying to protect the memory I was looking for, it would make it easier to find. Sure enough, I caught a glimpse of a crooked road sign. It was travelling slower than the others. This must be it.

A sleepy village lay at the foot of a grassy hill. Almost out of place was a grand building, expelling grandeur. I knew this place! Where was the sign? I caught another glimpse of wood and turned instantly towards it. It was the sign!

'Little Hangleton'

I knew where it was! Riddle Manor! It made sense. Of course Voldemort would have his Horcrux hidden in the last place anyone would look.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

I instantly withdrew. I blinked as my eyes readjusted to the blinding sunlight of the dining room. Tracey had awoken. She looked from me, wand in hand, to Davis, seemingly unconscious but still twitching remorselessly.

"You don't understand, Tracey..." Her eyes welled up. She ran to her father and fell to her knees.

"You've killed him!" she shrieked, angry tears running down her face. "You've maimed him!"

"It was–"

"What have you done?" she cried. She looked up at me with fear, horror and disgust.

_Kill her._

_"Ava–"_

The incantation died on my lips. What was I doing?

"Get out," she said, hatred etched into every line of her face.

Did I just try and kill her?

"Let me exp–"

"GET OUT!"

I needed to leave. I had stopped myself once from making a grave mistake, who knew what would happen next time? Then there was the issue of destroying the Horcrux.

I took one last look at Tracey. She was holding her father similar to the way I had held her not one hour ago. She'll realise she's wrong once she calmed down. She would come looking for me, armed with a begging apology.

Holding that thought dear, I resolvedly marched out of Davis Manor for the last time.

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	12. Into the House that Gaunt Built

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle: your breath.

* * *

_I am not alive, but I grow;  
I don't have lungs, but I need air;  
I don't have a mouth, but water kills me._

* * *

– **CHAPTER TWELVE –**

**Into the House that Gaunt Built**

* * *

I was standing in a country lane bordered by high, tangled hedgerows, beneath a summer sky as bright and blue as forget-me-not. There was a wooden signpost sticking out of brambles on the left-hand side of the road. Inscribed on it was an arrow pointing towards my direction of travel which read: 'Little Hangleton, 1 mile'. I walked briskly in the direction of the arrow.

While making my way towards Riddle Manor, I thought back to my manner of leaving Tracey. My heart panged when I remembered the hatred and pain in her face. I sighed. I knew full well then, as I did now, that to lay my wand on Mr. Davis was to kiss goodbye anything with Tracey. The full extent of what I had done had not yet sunk in. I almost felt as though I would go back to Hogwarts on September the First and find her on the platform, waiting to embrace me.

Was that the price of destroying the Horcruxes? The temptation to march back into the Manor and place a well-cast Memory Charm on her was overwhelming. Anything to go back to what we had. My only hope was that she would calm down and realise my hands were tied.

I walked a short was. There was nothing to see but the hedgerows and the wide blue sky overhead, then the lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside, so that the sudden view of the whole valley laid out in front of me. I could see a little village, undoubtedly Little Hangleton, nestled between two steep hills, its church and graveyard clearly visible. Across the valley, I expected to see a handsome manor house surrounded by a wide expanse of velvety green lawn. Instead, there was a forgotten field, wild grass clashing against the well-mowed lawns of the surrounding gardens.

How had a whole Manor disappeared?

I had to break into a reluctant trot due to the steep downward slope. The lane curved right and passed a hole in a hedge. The village rapidly approached. It wasn't too long before the lane was widening, the gradient was becoming gentler and detached Tudor houses began appearing on either side of me.

A girl and boy, not older than ten, were chasing each other around their parent's Land Rover. As I walked past, they stopped and stared at me. I glanced down at my clothes. I was wearing a pair of jeans and a T-Shirt; why were they staring? Ignoring them, I continued along the lane, which had become a road, trees and lampposts appearing on newly laid pavement.

I turned left at a crossroads, ignoring the furtive looks of the people at the small village sole traders. As I came closer to the country lane leading to the Manor, a small pub called 'The Hanged Man' appeared to my left, its double doors flung open. I glanced inside and locked eyes with the barman, who had deep-set, bloodshot eyes which were wide with disbelief. In the blink of an eye, he had disappeared into the backroom. I frowned and walked on.

"Can I help ye with summin'?" asked a haggard old man. His roman nose took the attention away from his grey, sunken eyes.

"Yeah, actually," I said, my voice surprisingly croaky. I cleared my throat and continued. "Do you know where the old manor is?"

"Manor?" said the old man, his voice dropping conspiratorially. "Yer not from 'round here are ye, son?"

"No," I said, frowning.

"There ain't no manor here," said the old man, nodding his head sagely. "That's only a myth parents tell their young 'uns. There be some strange rumours 'round here, that's for sure." I looked at him searchingly.

"What rumours?"

"Apart from the manor o' death ye heard?" He began hobbling back in the direction I came from and beckoned for me to follow him. "There's said to be strange folk over the way." He lifted a thin, wrinkled finger towards a dark patch of trees on the hillside.

"Strange in what way?"

"The stories go that there lives a family yonder what worship snakes. _Snakes!_ Some say they even _speak_ to them, can ye believe?" I stiffened – it sounded like Riddle's relatives may have lived there. Where else in Britain were there Parseltongues? "If ye ask me, there's some truth in it. A friend's mother said to the day of her death that she saw it. Through a gap in the hedge up there, she says. And there's a dead snake nailed to the–"

"Dad!" came a strong, deep voice. "There you are!"

A tall, broad-chested man wearing a white vest walked up to us. He looked between me and the old man suspiciously. "Has he been causing you any trouble?" he asked me, to which I shook my head.

"Not at all. He's been very helpful, actually." The son didn't seem convinced. He gave a short farewell and led his grumbling father across the road.

It took me five minutes to make my way back onto the lane, which was now a very steep and difficult hike. Finally, I came to the hole in the hedge. Through it was a narrow dirt track bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those I had left behind. The path was crooked, rocky and potholed, sloping downhill like the last one, and it seemed to be heading for a patch of dark trees below me. Sure enough, the track soon opened up at the copse

Despite the cloudless sky, the old trees cast deep, dark, cool shadows and it was a few seconds before my eyes discerned the hollow remains of a house. All that stood was a section of the front wall, which partly hid a mass of rubble surrounded by a clearing where nothing grew.

I inched forward and cast my wandlight into the dark depths of the rubble. There was no denying it. The old man was wrong – nobody had been near the remains of this house for years. I cursed my luck. Davis had lied to me. It seemed so improbable that he had done such a thing in his state, but here was the evidence, right before my eyes.

Suddenly, my light passed over something coiled up and decaying. I held my wand steady with one hand and with the other brushed aside the blanket of cobwebs. I gasped. It was unmistakably a dead snake, punctured in three places by long, black nails. Why was it here? I extended my fingers and brushed past the cold, scaly skin of the snake in order to examine the nails. Without warning, an invisible force tugged at my arm. With a great lurch, my head began to spin and I felt as though I was being flushed down a plughole.

As quickly as it began, the sensation stopped. I was lying spread-eagle on a smooth, cold surface. Miraculously, my glasses were still in one piece, though they were digging painfully into my nose. I groaned and rose to my feet.

I was alone in a long, dark corridor lit only by a smattering of candles floating near the high ceiling. The red flames cast flickering reflections in the dark glass floor, making it seem as though I was walking on a carpet of scorching hot coals. Hand firmly around my wand, I made my way down the corridor of fire.

I thought I could hear whispering coming from the black walls, but this may have been another one of Riddle's memories. As such, I ignored it, trying in vain to calm my breathing as I did so. No amount of calming breaths and Occlumency could shield me from the horrible feeling that the temperature was actually rising.

I walked and walked and walked and walked. The longer I walked, the further away I felt I was from an exit. Furthermore, the temperature increase was now tangible. Sweat began to drip from my brow as though I had been walking through a desert. A chilling thought crossed my mind: were there really coals beneath my feet?

I kept casting and re-casting cooling charms but to no avail. The inexorable heat overcame everything I threw at it. An overwhelming urge to give up suddenly became all too attractive.

The whispering grew in volume. The last thing I needed was Riddle's memories plaguing my mind and subduing my rationale. I couldn't let him win. I had to find this Horcrux of his and destroy it. Then I'd be a step closer to getting rid of him altogether.

Then I saw it. My heart pounded in excitement. A door! A door of the purest white. I broke into a run, pearls of sweat blurring my vision. The faster I ran, the further away the door was.

_"Hope is fickle,"_ hissed a distant voice. I recognised it as Parseltongue. _"Power is the key that fits in all doors." _

I stopped running and frantically looked around. There was no sign of any other life. Was Voldemort here? I cast a human detection charm. Negative. Was he even classified as human?

"Power is the key," I mumbled. I needed to use magic, that much was evident. But what spell? I panted and my mind began to spin. I was sure I had lost more water than I ever had inside me. Any longer in this room and I'd succumb to the urges to just collapse, to just give up.

_The key that fits in all doors. Could it be that easy?_

"_Alohamora_," I whispered. I laughed with relief as the white door swung open. I took a tentative step towards it. It came a step closer towards me. I smiled again. A handful of steps and I was clear of the dark room.

I looked around at this new room. The size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, it was well lit with an assortment of torches, carried by brackets carved into the shape of golden lions. Somehow, it made the room friendlier, more relaxing. I saw a glint in the corner of my eye and turned towards it, wand at the ready. I could only gape.

Stacked almost as high as the ceiling was a mountain of golden Galleons, rubies, emeralds and diamonds. I took an involuntary step towards them.

"Take it," said a soothing voice by my ear. I jumped, but could not bring myself to look away from the pile of riches. It was almost as though the glinting rubies had cast a spell on me. "It is yours now."

I took another involuntary step towards the gold. I didn't want it. I didn't need it. Then why didn't I walk away?

"You deserve it," said the disembodied voice. This was a trick, I thought, never taking my eyes off the gold, it had to be a trick.

"Did you not think there would be a reward for defeating the corridor?"

It may have been a trick of the light, but it seemed as though the gold was edging towards me. The thought was too absurd – gold didn't move on its own. I must have taken another step without realising it.

"Snake Speaker, son of Slytherin, take what is yours."

Maybe it wasn't a trick, maybe this was Slytherin's treasure. After all, it seemed unlikely that the untrusting Founder would have used Gringotts. Come to think of it, Gringott's may not even have existed in Slytherin's time. It made perfect sense that he'd hide his treasure away from ordinary wizards.

I blinked and with my spare hand rubbed my eyes. The thought was too absurd, but it seemed as though the gold was multiplying. I checked again. Yes, there was more gold now than when I first my eyes upon the pile – I was sure of it.

"The family of Slytherin need not work."

I reached out my hand to an emerald-encrusted sword that was now within reach. No! This treasure belongs to Slytherin, not me. Then I heard a voice I had not heard for a long time; the voice of my teenage grandfather.

_"…You see, my dad's family's been in Gryffindor since before anyone I spoke to can remember, but my Nan traced my mother's side all the way back to Salazar Slytherin's niece…"_

I was a Slytherin. This treasure does belong to me. "It's mine," I muttered.

"Do not hesitate to take your birthright."

But then, why would the entrance to his treasure trove be conveniently kept near the Muggle village where Voldemort's _Muggle_ father lived?

"It is yours…"

It was a trick. I stepped back from the treasure. The temptation to bend down and pick up the gold lying no more than a foot from my shoes was overwhelming. I had to focus on why I was here. Voldemort's Horcrux. This wasn't a treasure hunt.

I glanced towards the far end of the hall where a small, uninviting, decrepit wooden door stood in contrast to its elegant surroundings. Looking neither left nor right, I darted for it.

"TAKE IT! TAKE WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY YOURS!"

The treasure was spilling over as its content increased. I glanced over my shoulder. It was rising up like a wall of golden water, filling the hall with a chorus of rushing metal.

"FOOL! YOU DARE RESIST THE MIGHT OF SALAZAR SLYTHERIN?"

I broke into a run. The sound of clinking gold was deafening. I stole another look over my shoulder – the wave of treasure was crashing towards me. The door was close now, but it seemed as though the rushing gold was closer. An almighty crash reverberated around me. I didn't look back. I sprinted as fast as I could. My heart was racing wildly, groaning that it would not be able to support my pace any longer.

"_ALOHAMORA!"_ I yelled, barely audible over the roar from the treasure. The wooden door flung open.

I could feel something icy cold scraping against my heels. As I burst through the doorway, I continued running. I heard the slam of the door. I ground down to a halt and turned around, hands on my knees, panting for air.

A single coin had managed to squeeze through the gap of the closing door and it rolled pathetically towards me. It slowed down, spun on its edge and toppled onto its back with a faint thud.

Once I had caught my breath, I stared around at the new monstrosity Riddle had set up for me. The room was well lit. Punctuating the panelled wooden walls were large, arch windows offering a breathtaking view of the valley, with its rich greens, browns and golds. Sunlight streamed in and illuminated a portrait scaling the entire height of the wall.

On a black backdrop were two figures; a man and a woman. For the second time, my jaw dropped. It felt like I was eleven years old again. The man had jet black hair, glasses and a face very similar to mine. The woman, around whom he had his arm, had long, red hair, startling green eyes and a friendly smile.

"Mum?" I said quietly. "Dad?"

"Harry," said Dad, smiling broadly, "you've grown so much."

"This is a trick," I said quietly. I did not think that even Riddle would stoop so low.

"We miss you, Harry," said Mum. I cast my eyes away from them. I couldn't bear to think of this as anything but a cruel joke of Voldemort's.

"This isn't real," I said, coldly now I was not looking at them, "because you're dead."

"It isn't so bad, you know," said Dad, "death, that is. Dumbledore was absolutely right; it's the next great adventure."

"We really, really miss you, honey," said Mum, her voice laden with love. I closed my eyes and shook my head. How _dare_ he? I had never felt so disgusted.

"All our friends and family are here," said Dad, "even the Founders! You should join us, son." I suddenly looked up at them incredulously. I had at least expected Voldemort to make an effort with their characters. But this open invitation to suicide?

"Everyone who loves you is here, darling," said Mum. How dare he? After taking them away from me, he does this…

"Your grandfather is desperate to meet you," said Dad.

"What do you know about my grandfather, Voldemort?" I said coldly.

"He was a great man," said Dad earnestly, apparently deaf to my name for him.

"What house was he in?" I asked. I felt reviled even talking to the portrait.

"A Gryffindor, of course!" said Dad with a laugh.

Finally having enough, dashed for the door.

"Where are you going?" I heard Dad yell.

"You can't abandon us," Mum was crying, "not again."

"Your mother gave her life for you and you turn your back?" spat Dad.

I wished they were real. I wished I could sit there and talk to them for hours and hours on end, not caring about Riddle or his stupid Horcruxes, not caring about the stupid Knights of Walpurgis. I wished we could be a normal family, living at Godric's Hollow. Grandfather Maximus would have visited from time to time, telling me himself what he, Riddle and Moody had got up to. But this was all fantasy now, because I had been robbed. Robbed by Voldemort. He had taken all of this from me and now he was trying to rob me of myself. There was no chance of undoing his wrongs. All I had now was vengeance, starting with his ring.

The door, in complete contrast to the one previous, was arched and carved out of marble. There was no handle here, only a marble snake hanging from the top of the door-frame, as if the door had been shut as the snake attempted to escape. I stared into the snake's hollow eyes, pretending that it was real and hissed,_"open."_

With a lurch, the door disappeared up into the frame of the door. Ignoring the cries of my parents, I stepped into the opening. My heart ached – I knew they were Voldemort's inventions, but hearing their voices had been alarming. I didn't know how many more of Voldemort's traps I could stand.

The light from the arched windows opposite the portrait seeped into the otherwise unlit room. No larger than the smallest bedroom at Number Four Privet Drive, it was completely bare aside from a wooden table right in its centre. I edged closer to the table, hand gripped firmly on my wand. What would Riddle throw at me this time?

I lit my wand and brought it over the desk. I did not know whether to feel elated or downtrodden. Glinting at me were three rings, completely identical. All three were clumsily made, a cracked stone cast into them. As I reached out towards them, my scar erupted with pain. I gritted my teeth and clutched my forehead. The rings were blurred now, pain obscured them.

_"I do not understand, Maximus."_

Maximus? The voice had come from the doorway and I was sure it was Riddle. The pain in my scar was beginning to fade, as though it was a distant memory. I was right, it was Riddle. He was tall, pale and handsome – at least in his seventh year.

_A shorter boy stepped out of the shadow of the room. He had long, messy black hair and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses perched in front of his brown eyes. He was staring at Riddle furiously._

_"We are not blind, Tom."_

_"It's Voldemort, Max." hissed Tom, his eye twitching as he said it._

_"You cavort with the very people we vowed one day would serve us," said Max, ignoring Tom's correction._

_"I have tricked those fools. I do not look at them as equals, as I do with you and Al; I am slowly bringing them under our control." He was staring at Max with surprise, as if he had never seen him before. _

My hands were trembling with excitement, the ring quite forgotten; was this the moment where Tom and Max went their separate ways? I edged closer to them, scared I would miss something.

_"I have seen you with them," snapped Max, "and they are poisoning you. We do not need to associate with them if you follow the plan." His eyes were fierce and determined._

_"And who is the one who has searched actively to reach our objectives?"_

_"Horcruxes are not the answer," said Max, almost disappointed, "can't you see that? How are we to rule when our hands are stained with the blood of innocents? How long before we are found out? Dumbledore has already buffeted us with questions. Remember our shambolic little Basilisk plan last year? He suspects us…"_

_"Dumbledore knows nothing!"_

_"If we are to defeat it," said Max, trembling now, "we must work together. We will invent a new branch of magic, push aside these barbaric out-dated practises and become the most celebrated wizards of all time. Is that not one of our goals?" He looked at Tom almost pleadingly._

_"If we are to see further than any other wizards, we must stand on the shoulders of giants; use the work of our forefathers. Our goals may take us decades to achieve! What good would it be if we _die_ before they are reached?" Tom spat the sentence out, as if it had offended him._

_"We have already come so far, we will be finished before we are thirty. Our children will be born into a new world order. The names Riddle, Potter and Moody will be revered. We will be rich and powerful beyond our wildest imaginations…" He smiled distantly at the thought, entranced by it._

_"Dreams, dreams, and more dreams," said Tom bitterly. "I am the only one actively taking steps towards achieving them. I refuse to waste a precious year and wait until we are out of Hogwarts. Let us insure our lives before challenging death." Tom glared at Max, and Max glared at Tom. None of them said a word and I thought I heard footsteps in the distance._

_"I know of the group you have dubbed the Death Eaters," said Max finally, his tone icy._

_"They are all fools. I feed them with lies and hope and they swallow it. They are willing to do m- our bidding. They will become Ministry workers after Hogwarts. We must surround the Ministry with our people before it is ours. And what of you? I hardly think the likes of Zabini, Thomas and Bones are likely to help our cause." It was Max's turn now to look at Tom with surprise._

_"I am spreading the word of our revolution," said Max, with as much intent as Riddle, "and you must admit they could become powerful wizards. They could help us." There was a triumphant gleam in Tom's eyes as Max said this._

_"So you agree that we need more Knights around the table?" said Tom, smiling slightly. There was a protracted silence, then Max sighed._

_"Yes," he said dolefully, "I do. But we must remember that the revolution belongs to you, Al and I. All _three_ of us. You will remember at all times that they must give in to our ideals, and not the other way around. Never forget what they did to the Heir of Slytherin." A flash of anger passed over Tom's eyes, but it was gone in an instant._

_"Then we are reconciled," said Tom smoothly. "Argument is such a waste of time. I need to go and talk to Al."_

_"Where is he?" asked Max, his tone now as civil as Tom's._

_"Working on the labyrinth," said Tom as he walked into the light._

_"Voldemort, wait!" cried Max and he too was enveloped by the light of the portrait room. _

I stood there gaping after them for what seemed like an age. They were friends in their late teens! They had started a revolution! Now that I thought about it, Voldemort's goals hadn't veered far from what he dreamed of achieving at Hogwarts.

I couldn't quell the growing feeling of betrayal. All my life I had been told that my family were the lightest of light, modest and great. But here was proof that my father's father was no better than Voldemort. His words echoed in my mind_… people we vowed one day would serve us… our shambolic little Basilisk plan last year… rich and powerful beyond our wildest imaginations…_ Worst of all, I wanted to be there with them – I wanted to be a Knight. What was becoming of me?

"Why are you here, Harry?"

I spun around, and my heart sunk. It was Dumbledore.

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	13. Symphony of the Lost Soul

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle: fire.

* * *

_What can go up a chimney down,  
But cannot go down a chimney up?_

* * *

– **CHAPTER THIRTEEN –**

**Symphony of the Lost Soul**

* * *

I felt my eyes bulge at the sight of the Headmaster, a look of utter astonishment marring his lined face. His hair looked distinctly windswept and there was no hint of a twinkle in his bright blue eyes. I had never seen him so dishevelled, and this, more than his sudden appearance, surprised me. What could I say? How did he know? I was lost for words.

"Harry," he repeated, more softly this time, "how did you come to this place?"

Another silence fell between us. There was no lying to him - I had to tell the truth. But what was I meant to say? Suddenly, I had an idea. "D-Did you see it?" I said hoarsely.

"Harry..." His expression was tranquil once more and he peered at me intently over his half-moon spectacles.

"The portrait in that room," I said, dropping my voice. There was a glint in Dumbledore's eyes but I couldn't tell what it was. "It was my parents." It was all I could to suppress a smile of relief as the words had the desired effect. Dumbledore lowered his wand and his expression softened.

"Harry..."

"They spoke to me," I said sadly, pushing my advantage, "they said my whole family were with them."

Dumbledore shook his great head gently. "It was not a portrait of your parents. It is a construct - similar to the Mirror of Erised. It was not your parents with whom you spoke, merely objects Voldemort created to lead you to temptation."

"B-But they were so real," I said, then suddenly had a spark of inspiration, "they told me about my grandparents; Maximus and Jane. Did you know them?"

Dumbledore was looking at me with mild interest. As usual, I felt as though I was under a microscope, as if he could see right through me, and it had nothing to do with Legilimency. I held his gaze, bringing up the memory of that dreadful portrait.

"I taught them both," said Dumbledore finally, "though it was with Maximus that I developed a strong friendship. You have been told on countless occasions that you resemble your father." He approached me slowly, smiling sadly as he did so. "But in your actions, one's defining feature, you are so very like Maximus. He too was bold and shrewd and brave. But sometimes bravery must be tempered with caution. So I must ask again, how is it that you have come here?"

I didn't respond; what could I say? That I tortured Davis for information and spoke to an old man in the village? That a connection had formed between Riddle and I since the time I destroyed his diary? That I knew about his secret Horcruxes and had to destroy them before he destroyed me?

Dumbledore walked slowly over to the three rings on the table. "At this point," he said quietly, "I can hazard a guess. It is my belief that you have conducted some extensive research in the library." He picked up one of the rings and examined it intently. "You have wondered, no doubt, how Voldemort had created such a diary. At some point between then and now, you discovered Voldemort's greatest secret. But how, Harry? You are quite a brilliant wizard, of that there is no doubt, but how did you discover the answer to a riddle I solved only after many years of thought and a pool of expensive resources?" He stared at me intently, his smile now faint, his white brow furrowed.

"I'm doing what I have to do. It's all in the Prophecy - I'm the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. I'm getting rid of him before he finds some way to get his body back." A silence, awkward and tense, fell between us. Dumbledore peered at me with something close to curiosity.

"This fight is not yours alone. There will come a time, no doubt, when Lord Voldemort feels the time apt to make an attempt on your life. There will come a time when you prove yourself to be, not his equal, but his better. That time is not now -"

"It is now."

"No, Harry. Now is the time for you to enjoy the fruits of youth."

"There is no use waiting. It's not like Voldemort's getting any older, is it?"

Dumbledore smiled sadly. "Alas that you made the discovery of Voldemort's Horcruxes alone. There is something of utmost importance that you must keep in mind. Voldemort has _not_ defeated age. To keep the heart unwrinkled, to be hopeful, kindly, cheerful, reverent, that is to triumph over age. Voldemort robbed himself of a childhood - do not let him do the same to you."

"What if he gets his body back while I'm sitting back and being idle? What if he kills more people just like he killed my parents?" Dumbledore shot me a piercing look.

"I will deal with Voldemort while you concentrate on your studies."

"But the Prophecy -"

"The Prophecy names you as having the power to vanquish him." There was agitation in Dumbledore's voice now. "That is not to say that you alone will fight him, or even destroy his Horcruxes. Would it be safe to assume that you were searching for the location of the ring while absent from your home?"

"Yes." I had to keep him talking while planning a way of hijacking the rings and running away. But how? Dumbledore stood beside the table, all three rings within his grasp.

"Would I be right in assuming that you gleaned some information from Miss. Davis' father?" He smiled knowingly; I could feel my eyes narrow.

"But in the _Daily Prophet_ -"

"Ah, media, the plural form of mediocrity. I am quite sure you are blissfully unaware of the close watch they have on you. I had to act, Harry. The choice was either to admit you had been taken, or admit that you were staying at the house of a former Death Eater. The long-term impact of the latter is, as you can understand, quite profound. I have a request of you, and I hope for a truthful answer. Please tell the story of how you came to find this Horcrux."

He lifted one of the rings with such certainty that I was sure it was the real Horcrux. I decided it was in my best interest to tell him the truth. Any lie would be hard to believe, and I was certain to contradict myself at some point.

"As you know, I spent Christmas with Tracey's mother. Since we had such a good time there, Tracey insisted I stay with her father in the summer."

I winced, thinking of all the times we sat in Mrs. Jone's lounge talking into the early hours. Mrs. Jones was warm and welcoming; I had great dificulty containing my envy. The pain must have shown on my face since Dumbledore's expression softened again.

"You are not experiencing, I hope, the sting of young love?"

"No. Now I knew from reading old editions of the _Daily Prophet_ and talking to people like Mrs. Jones that Mr. Davis was once an important Death Eater. So I thought to myself, why not see what he knows about the Horcruxes? If Lucius Malfoy managed to get a hold of a Horcrux, why not Mr. Davis?"

"An astute observation..."

"When I got to Davis Manor, I realized that Mr. Davis' study was very well guarded. Other than a brief welcome, I was not allowed in there. So I brewed some Veritaserum."

"Were you aware of the legality of your actions?"

"Yes, but finding the Horcruxes was more important."

"Curiosity is a powerful force..."

"I hid the potion and had to sit tight and wait. Meanwhile, I tried to listen in to the conversations between Mr. Davis and other Death Eaters."

"Former Death Eaters."

"But the Death Eaters talked in low voices, or spoke in codes I couldn't crack. Finally, after spending a lot of hours brewing it, the Veritaserum was ready."

"I must have a word with Severus, it seems he has grossly misjudged your ability."

"Now isn't _that_ a shock. Anyway, I managed to corner him in the dining room and fed him the Veritaserum. He didn't talk much, but he did give me the password to his Pensieve. I stunned him and broke into it. The stuff I found in there led me here."

Dumbledore gave a sigh. He seemed older than he usually did; it was almost as if I had noticed the many lines in his face for the first time.

"You know my views on the use of such unnecessary force," he said sadly. "I had hoped to shield you from the true horrors the Prophecy would lead you into. No child should ever have to face what you have today."

"It was my choice. It's nothing to do with the Prophecy - he killed my parents."

"Nonetheless, I must be frank with you. You remind me of three other gifted students. They too were popular, determined and respected amongst their peers. Their names, as you may well know, are Tom Riddle, Maximus Potter and Alastor Moody." There was a trace of pain in Dumbledore's eyes as he said the last name. "You exemplify their greatest traits. You are charming and ambitious, like Tom; loving and talented, like Maximus; strong and determined, like Alastor.

"I say this because of how remarkably similar your situation is to theirs. Learn from their mistakes, Harry. Tom yielded to the temptation of absolute power, and we both know that it corrupted absolutely. Maximus, too, lusted after power, but it was love, that greatest of shields, that availed."

"What do you mean?"

"Maximus met your grandmother shortly after he left Hogwarts. Years later, he would tell me that it was she who saved him from succumbing to a similar fate to Tom. He had a choice, love or power. He chose what was right, not what was easy."

I could hardly believe my luck. There were so many questions I was bursting to ask. It seemed that Dumbledore had recognised the truth in my story and was returning the favour. "Tell me about the Knights of Walpurgis," I said breathlessly. Dumbledore stared piercingly at me over his half-moon spectacles. "Please," I added.

"The tale is a lengthy -"

Dumbledore suddenly stopped talking and flicked his gaze towards the door. I searched for what had caused this odd behaviour. Suddenly, inexplicably, a silver Doe came hurtling towards us. I recognised it as a Patronus, but who had cast it, and where were they?

Dumbledore seemed to have understood something and moved towards the Doe. The Doe opened its mouth. "They are coming."

My voice caught in my throat; the voice was Snape's.

Seemingly unperturbed by the warning, Dumbledore plunged a hand deep into his robe pocket and withdrew a large fang - I recognised it at once as a Basilisk's. Before I could even draw breath, the Headmaster plunged the fang into the stone of the ring. There was a low, foul hiss and the ring dropped out of Dumbledore's grasp, the stone cracked, black and withered.

I gasped as a sudden pain, like a jolt of electricity, cursed through me. My scar erupted with excruciating pain. I screamed. It felt as though my head was going to explode. Everything was trembling. I could faintly hear Dumbledore's voice. Darkness began to cloud my vision. No! I had to fight it!

Then it stopped.

My hands were cold. I looked down at them. They were resting against the dirty, dusty floor. I had somehow managed to collapse onto my hands and knees. Breathing was painful. Suddenly, I was being hoisted up by the arm. White beard. Blue eyes. Dumbledore.

"You must leave now, Harry."

"Who? Who are coming?"

"Death Eaters."

Dumbledore broke into a run and beckoned me to follow.

"Harry, darling, we need you here!"

I ignored the shouts of the portrait and followed Dumbledore. Despite his remarkable speed and agility, I reached the door before him. I almost opened it when it burst open. A woman with dark, heavy-lidded eyes and a wild smile entered the room, her wand raised.

"Well if it isn't little baby Potter!" There was something about her, perhaps the sarcastic screeching or sickening mirth. Whatever it was, it revolted me.

I shot a Bludgeoning Hex at her, only for it to be blocked and sent right back at me. I ducked as three men with black robes and white, skull-like masks burst into the room. I noticed Dumbledore charging at them, his wand held aloft, from the corner of my eye. I had to dodge the Killing Curse of the taunting Death Eater.

"Don't run away from it!" I heard James yell.

"Embrace the curse," screamed Lily, "I did!"

Drowning out their yells, I conjured a spear and curved its path towards her chest. It passed inches from her dark hair and struck one of the Death Eaters piling into the room. Another Killing Curse passed over my shoulder. The unfortunate Death Eater fell to his knees, the spear sticking out of his barrel-like chest.

"So ickle Harry knows how to play!"

She was absolutely barking mad.

"She will save you, dear!"

"Give up, son!"

She jabbed her wand at the floor below me. I saw, too late, a flash of red. Next thing I knew, I was howling in pain. A gash, deep and red, had sliced my shoulder. I lost my footing. Almost as though the floor was oozing with oil, I slipped onto the hard floor.

"HE IS MINE! HE IS MINE!"

I tried getting back onto my feet, but my legs kept slipping on the floor.

"It's nearly over, honey!"

"We'll see you soon, son!"

"Oh dear!" cackled the woman, looming over me. Her breath was vile, like rotting fish. It was suffocating. "Look who's caught in a trap...why it's Potty!" She threw her head back and laughed raucously.

I glanced over at Dumbledore. He was keeping half a dozen Death Eaters at bay, with more struggling against the great ropes he had placed around them. I focussed on the Death Eater nearest the woman. There was no time for mistakes. No Snape to cast it if all went wrong. This time, I had to pull off the curse.

"Aww, baby Harry's struggling to take his first steps. Does he want Aunt Bella's help?"

Bella was saying something else. I wasn't listening. Slowly, I raised my wand and whispered, "_Imperio!_"

"Oh dear, he's missed again."

The spell hit the Death Eater in the stomach. He stiffened. Stop her, I thought with all my might, stop Bella. Stop her now.

The Death Eater turned around dumbly. I only hoped Dumbledore didn't get him. I locked my eye with his, focussing all my strength into controlling him; steeling his free will. Stop her. Just raise your wand and do it.

"Now for some fun!" cried Bella. "_Crucio!_"

I refused to break the connection with the Death Eater. Hot knives were piercing me, the pain was indescribable. I bit my lip; I refused to give her the satisfaction. I had to keep my watering eyes on the Death Eater. Finally, I couldn't hold it in; the pain was too great. Then it stopped.

Shaking convulsively, I stood up. The floor was no longer slippery. The madwoman, Bella, was lying in a crumpled heap, the Death Eater staring on in horror. I stunned him.

I glanced down at Bella again. I couldn't let her get away with humiliating me. I glanced over at Dumbledore. He was duelling a handful of Death Eaters, but no others were entering the room. I summed Bella's wand. My head began pounding again.

"_Enervate._"

Bella raised her head sharply, her eyes blood-shot, her hair falling across her face like a mop. She checked her pockets.

"Looking for this?" I held her wand up. She looked from me to my wand and then back to me.

"You_dare…_"

"Has Auntie Bella lost her wand?" I said, mimicking her. She looked positively murderous. _"Crucio!"_

My head was pounding. Bellatrix's screeching was all I could hear. She was thrashing about on the floor. I enjoyed watching her suffer. I clutched my scar with one hand. My vision was clouding.

"_Crucio!"_ I hissed, my voice high, cold and unfamiliar. The screaming was gruffer, more masculine. Where was Bella?

"_You have disappointed me, Alastor," I said quietly. _

_A young man, no older than twenty, had taken Bella's place. His face bore a multitude of scars, his hair matted flat with blood and sweat. I lifted the curse. _

"_It's over, Tom," he wheezed. "Gone, it's all gone."_

"_It will never be gone. We have created something eternal to make sure of it. Or have you forgotten all the hours we put into the Knight's Labyrinth?"_

"_Look at you, Tom. What have you done to yourself?"_

"_I have pushed magic to its very limits. I have delved into its most powerful and secret depths. You could have been part of that, but you choose instead to blindly follow the Ministry, the very institution we vowed to conquer."_

"_We were children," snarled Moody. "For God's sake, Tom, listen to yourself. The Ministry cannot possibly fall, and Hogwarts is the safest place in Europe, especially now that they've appointed Dumbledore –"_

"_Dumbledore is nothing! We passed under that crooked nose of his for seven years, stirring up rebellion, and he saw __nothing__. And now you talk of becoming a mere Auror like some common Mudblood?_Crucio!_"_

_Moody writhed for a minute more, his screams terrible, his voice fading. _

"_You could have been great," said Tom softly. _

_He flicked his wand, and Moody's torn sleeve rolled up to reveal his right bicep. Instead of a multitude of scratches, there was __a skull of the darkest grey. Its mouth hung open and two weapons I recognized as spears had been pierced through it, their tips laden with a dark substance. The heads of the weapons peeked out of the two dark eye sockets. There was something strangely fascinating and grotesque about the thing._

"_You are a disgrace to the mark you now wear begrudgingly. Maximus and I helped you greatly, Alastor, let us not forget."_

"_Ha!" rasped Moody. "You think Max subscribes to your madness? We are not Death Eaters, _my Lord_, we are your _equals_!"_

"_When you are an old man, sitting on trinkets given to you by lesser men, what then, Alastor?"_

"_Then I accept death with open arms, knowing I've served my fellow man, and that my children will live long and prosper."_

_I laughed cruelly, and even when I stopped, it seemed to linger in the air like a foul mist. "Weakness, in a word. You will fall into your grave and rot like some common Muggle. You will be another nameless coward, afraid to test the waters of greatness."_

"_It is impossible," breathed Moody, "your goals are impossible. You'll never be satisfied, Tom."_

"_So you choose then to be a traitor?"_

"_Traitor? What madness is this?"_

"_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." It was neither Moody or I who had said this._

_My eyes darted to the left, searching for the owner of the voice, wand still trained on Moody. A tall, thin man with a jet black goatee, the same age as Tom and Moody, had appeared beside me. His gaze was caught between his two friends._

"_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," I repeated, nodding at Maximus._

"_What is this, Tom?" asked Maximus._

"_We have a traitor in our midst. Alastor here has given in to death. He is no longer a Knight of Walpurgis."_

"_Are you?"_

"_What?"_

"_Are you still a Knight?"_

"_I, more than any, have worked hardest towards our goals."_

"_What of the Ministry? What of our revolution? Have you not realised that Alastor may be doing just as much by becoming an Auror as you are?"_

"_The Headmaster did not allow me a position as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."_

"_Then you have failed where Alastor has succeeded."_

"_So it has come to this. You choose Alastor over I. You choose weakness over power. _Expelliarmus!_"_

_I caught Max's wand, but he seemed surprisingly unperturbed. A giant boa constrictor appeared out of Tom's wand, its scales glistening in the brilliant light. _

"Bind him."_ The boa slithered across the floor. A pang of fear passed over me. Why was he not running for his life? The monstrous snake coiled itself around Max, still unmoving, and it held him in place._

"_Now watch as I demonstrate how we deal with traitors. _Crucio!_"_

"_You're making a mistake…"_

_I ignored Max. I breathed deeply, enjoying the Moody's desperate screams. I was in charge. His fate was in my hands. Equals? No. _

"_This isn't you…"_

_I laughed and laughed and laughed. _

"_Who are you?"_

_My laughter refused to die down. I could barely see. The bright light of the room was too intense. It was delirious._

"_Where...is Tom Riddle? Where is...my brother?"_

I saw the movement of a boy about my age. It was too blurry to distinguish. My head spun and I heard some words which sounded jumbled, like a broken tape. The boy moved quickly as if he were in a film I was fast-forwarding. He moved faster and faster and the white light grew stronger and stronger, threatening to consume him.

Then it stopped.

I pried my eyes open. I was on my knees. Bella lay within arm's reach, her eyes glassy and unseeing.

Slowly, I looked around the room. Dead bodies carpeted the floor. Lucius Malfoy. Crabbe. Goyle. Other masked, nameless faces. All dead. And it was not Dumbledore who had killed them.

I stared down at my wand. It was me. I had killed them. But, inexplicably, I realised something else…

I did not care.

My eyes finally rested on Albus Dumbledore. He lay beside a great boa constrictor. Fear rose in me like bile. There was no way. It was not possible. It was a memory, only a memory.

"_He is not dead."_

I gasped. My heart was pounding so hard I was afraid it would burst. I knew who it was...I knew the voice...

"W-Where are you!" I cried, my voice cracked.

"_I am everywhere."_

"Show yourself!"

My wand was raised. I turned this way and that, trying to find him. Find Voldemort.

"_You have never questioned your remarkable ability?"_

It was coming from the window. I scrambled over the dead bodies. There was nothing untoward about the sleepy countryside.

"Show yourself, you coward!"

"_Now, now, Harry, there is no need to stoop to petty insults."_

The voice carried on for some time after it had spoken, as if the last word had been hissed.

"_You have done some fine work here, Harry, fine work indeed."_

"These are your Death Eaters."

Voldemort laughed, his voice high and cruel. "_My_ Death Eaters? _My_ Death Eaters would have found and worked to resurrect their Lord. They have failed me and you quite conveniently dealt the punishment I myself could not administer. I do not care for them, but you know that, don't you, Harry?"

I thought I saw a shadow pass over a window and yelled, _"Avada Kedavra!"_

The jet of blinding green light passed straight through a hole that had formed in the window, only for it to reseal itself.

"_You cannot kill me, Harry. It is unwise to try."_

"WHERE ARE YOU?"

A dreadful thought rippled through me – was he inside my head?

"_Almost right, Harry. Have another guess." _His voice was filled with ghastly mirth.

I tried to Disapparate, anything to get away from the voice. But it didn't work.

"_Cowardice is not a virtue, Harry. Your grandfather would not have run away."_

The cruel voice was coming from the doorway to the room with the rings. I edged towards the marble doorway. I needed to keep Voldemort talking – only then would I find out where he was.

"How did you find out I was here?" I said, still looking around for any sign of him. I was glad to see that the large portrait was empty.

"_I traced your footsteps, of course, which were not covered well. I thought I had taught you better than that."_

"You taught me nothing," I said quietly. His voice was definitely coming from the Horcrux Room.

"_Come now, Harry, you need not lie. I see your soul, and it is mine."_

The Horcux Room, with its bare, grey walls, seemed oddly dead and forlorn.

"There's no need to hide, Tom," I said quietly.

"_But I am not hiding, Harry Potter. I see your soul, and it is mine."_

There was no way. _I see your soul, and it is mine_. Could it be? Was he telling the truth? Was I _becoming_ Voldemort? I looked down at my hands. They were pale and cold. Was it a trick of the light, or did they seem longer than usual?

"_He who knows to run away, lives to fight another day."_

There was no sign of him. Maybe he was part of the room? Unleashed to torment any who dared look for Voldemort's Horcruxes?

Hoping this was the explanation, I Disapparated.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	14. Shadow of the Valley of Death

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle: umbrella.

**AN:** It's a little short, but moving the scene I had originally planned for next chapter here would've ruined the flow of the story.

* * *

_The more you take,_

_The more you leave behind_

* * *

– **CHAPTER FOURTEEN –**

**Shadow of the Valley of Death**

* * *

The sun had disappeared behind the Diagon Alley skyline, leaving a crimson radiance in its wake. The wide, cobbled street was surprisingly empty. Late stragglers were milling around some of the larger stores, such as Madam Malkin's. Many of the smaller shops had already closed for the day.

A roar erupted behind me, and I jumped. An orange glow came from the Leaky Cauldron, it sounded as though it was packed to breaking point. I quickly put as much distance between the pub and I as possible. The news of Mr. Davis' torture may have got out by now, and it would not do to be seen.

Why was I on Diagon Alley? I remembered wanting to be as far away from Voldemort as possible, even if that meant going somewhere so public. While I was here, I thought I might as well withdraw as much money as possible – who knew when I'd next be able to get into Gringotts? At least the Goblins wouldn't care about what I'd done – as far as they were concerned, all wizards were as bad as each other.

Florean Fortescue's loomed to my right, its light impinging the rapidly descending darkness. From its welcoming doors, a boy around my age emerged. Before I could slip away, he had seen me. As he stepped closer towards me, I realised it was Dean Thomas, looking as shocked to see me as I felt.

"Y-You!" he gasped.

"You look pleased to see me." I didn't need Legilimency to tell me that some news had escaped Davis Manor. While he was suspicious of my activity at school, Dean was no coward. He certainly would not look as though he had seen a ghost just because I was in Diagon Alley.

"You Death Eater!" At least he had pulled himself together.

"I'm afraid you're not quite right there, Dean. Try again." Dean's frown became more pronounced, the lines in his forehead digging deeper into his skin.

"You can't deny it, Potter. We all expected you to do something, but to your girlfriend's _dad_?" I gritted my teeth and my fingers twitched. How _dare_ he…

"I'm guessing you read this twaddle in the _Daily Prophet_?"

"Even you can't deny it…there were pictures!"

"Were there now?" I knew that any sudden movements on my part would only startle him and attract attention, and that was definitely something I had to avoid at all costs.

"Yeah! You standing over Davis' dad, torturing him in front of her eyes."

"Haven't you considered," I said, fighting to keep my cool, "that these aren't real pictures? That they may have been doctored by the Ministry?"

"Why would they do that?"

"Hmm..." I said sarcastically. "Maybe because they couldn't catch Voldemort –" Dean flinched "– or Sirius Black, or even keep the captured Death Eaters in Azkaban, and now they want to show that they can do something? That a school kid might be easier to catch than a _real_ criminal?"

"That doesn't make any sense," said Dean, though he was less sure of himself now. "Why would they choose _you_?"

"Another tough one. Maybe because I've got a Slytherin girlfriend and only one Gryffindor friend? And let's think…who hates me and has a dad in the Ministry? Think, you idiot, why would I even think about hurting my own girlfriend's dad? Would you torture Ginny Weasley's dad?"

"No…"

"And why's that?"

"Because I don't want to lose her…"

"Exactly! So tell me, Dean Thomas, who has more reason to lie: me or the Ministry?"

"Oh, there you are Dean!" I instantly thought of reaching for my wand. A big-busted black woman, a little shorter than Dean, had emerged from the ice-cream parlour. She had a certain air of confidence about her that Dean could only wish to emulate. Her hawk-like eyes landed on me.

"Is this a friend of yours, honey?" she said.

"I'm his dorm-mate," I said quickly, before Dean could even muster a response.

"Oh. Why don't you introduce him, Dean? Where are your manners?"

Dean squirmed under her gaze, his eyes flitting between me and his mother. "I'm Harry," I said, glancing over my shoulder. The falling darkness would not hide my presence for long – eventually, I would run into trouble.

"Harry?" Dean's mother scrunched her nose in thought. "Harry…Ah, yes, Dean spoke highly of you. Killed some sort of dragon thingy, did you?"

"Dark Lord," muttered Dean, looking extremely uncomfortable.

His eyes locked with mine and I thought I saw something – a hint of brightest blue. Throwing subtlety out of the window, I delved into his mind. There it was! Dumbledore's eyes. Was it his office? Yes, I could see Fawkes' cage. He was talking to Dean, Hermione, Ron and Terry.

"_Harry will try and contact you," he was saying. "He is not in his right mind. If you wish the best for him, please listen to me."_

"_Sir," stuttered Ron, "please, Granger and Boot will betray you. They shouldn't be hearing this."_

"_Maybe so, but at least I have presented them with a choice."_

"_I-I don't think he'll want to talk to me and Ron," said Dean hesitantly. "We're not exactly friends."_

"_Oh, I am sure you will cross paths one day. And when that happens, I cannot impress upon you how important it is for you to let me know immediately."_

"_How?"_

_Dumbledore extended a hand, four badges glinting in the firelight. Ron and Dean took one each, but Terry and Hermione remained where they were. I felt a rush of gratitude for them as I retreated out of Dean's memory._

"When did you send the message to Dumbledore?"

Dean froze, his eyes widening. "I-I –"

I drew my wand, staring unblinkingly at my former classmate. His mother gasped, and moved to protect her son.

"Now listen here young man…" I jabbed my wand at her and she froze. There was no time to be dealing with pathetic Muggles.

"When did you send it?"

"H-How –" I stepped forward and dug my wand into his chest. His fear was palpable; it gave me strength.

"When?"

He trembled, his eyes wide as Sickles, and his mouth opened and closed silently. Just as Harry moved his wand over the boy's heart, he spluttered, "W-When I first saw you."

I could feel the bubble of fury rising in me. How dare Dumbledore manipulate his own students against me? The Aurors were probably on their way. With any luck, the Headmaster was still unconscious and couldn't come in person. Aurors I could handle…

Without a second thought, I turned and tried to Disapparate. Nothing happened. They were here. I sprinted down the Alley, ignoring the screams from shoppers. Where should I go?

_Knockturn Alley._

The response was instantaneous, as if I were having a conversation with…no, it was impossible. I had left Voldemort behind. There was no way he could track me this quickly. 'I see your soul, and it is mine'. Is this what that meant?

_There is no time for such thoughts. They are on your tail. Hurry._

I glanced over my shoulder. Sure enough, a group of Aurors were in hot pursuit of me, bright red robes shimmering in the moonlight. A rainbow-coloured barrage of curses were being hurled at me, only for them to fizzle and die before they touched me.

Gringott's loomed to my right, familiar and welcoming. Surely the Goblins would not allow the casting of spells in the bank? But at the same time, why would they anger the Ministry for my sake?

_Knockturn Alley remains your only hope. Their fear will become your saviour._

Reluctantly, I turned to the left. The entrance was almost completely under the cover of darkness, the sign barely legible under the gaze of the full moon. Bracing myself, I sprinted into its midst, hating myself for following Voldemort's advice. Desperate times called for desperate measures.

_Hide between these buildings and disguise yourself._

I glanced at the gap between two crooked, dilapidated buildings, barely large enough for a man to fit in. The air was thick with the putrid smell of decaying flesh. This was surely a trap Voldemort was leading me into – well, I wasn't going to be left stuck in a mouldy back-alley on Knockturn Alley. Jaw clenching with resolve, I sprinted down the Alley.

_You fool._

I cursed as the pot-holed ground slowed me down to a careful jog. Though the road was mercifully clear, I was quite sure the Aurors would catch up. I tried to Disapparate – it was no use. The road twisted and turned, and with each turn, I expected to find a glimmer of hope. The sign for Borgin and Burkes came and went. I glanced over my shoulder. There was still some distance between me and the Aurors. It looked as though they had split up and secured the area.

My heart sank as I turned the final corner. It was a dead end. My jog slowed to a walk, and finally, I stopped in front of...myself.

Nailed to the doorpost of what appeared to be an abandoned shop was a bright poster defying the general mood of Knockturn Alley, flapping in the light breeze. It read:

**Wanted for Murder: Harry Potter**

Below the ominous title was a picture of me at Diagon Alley last summer, desperately trying to dodge a photographer.

_The Ministry for Magic offers a 5000 Galleon reward for information leading to the capture of Harry Potter. Please use the special Owl Address overleaf; anonymity is assured._

"How dare they..."

I looked down at my hands; they were trembling with anger.

I felt a sudden rush of air pass my ear. I looked up in time to see a red curse smash the window of the deserted shop. My peripheral vision told me that two Aurors had found me. _Murderer_ was I?

_Show them your strength._

Did they think they would get me to surrender to their seeming authority? What authority do they have over me?

_None. Your grandfather would not have stood for it either._

All this time, I had been lied to. My grandfather saw it too. He saw that there had to be fundamental changes, and did something about it. For that, Dumbledore condemned him as turning to the Dark. Is this what happened to all those who sought power? All my life, the wizarding world had elevated me for no reason and now, when I try and rid the world of Voldemort, they turn against me?

"You are under arrest by order of the Minister for Magic!" shouted the larger of the two Aurors. His hair was long and brown, his face hirsute.

"What are the charges?" I said, voice trembling in anger.

"The murder of one Theodore Davis, esteemed member of the Wizengamot. If you surrender your wand, no harm will befall you."

No harm would befall me? Me, who fought against Voldemort twice. Me, whose parents _died_ trying to stand up for the wizarding world. Me, who has been looking for a way to kill Voldemort for three years. And now the Ministry send Aurors after _me_, instead of rejoicing that another Death Eater had been taken care of. I didn't even get to kill the bastard myself.

"Any other options?" I said, my head pounding in time to my pulse.

The smaller man on the left, who, all the while, was fidgeting restlessly, sent a Stunning Curse at me. I lazily flicked it away with a laugh. Was this the _might_ of the Ministry?

I Disillusioned myself and created a small Wind Charm away from me towards the smaller Auror, giving the illusion that I was running at him. His attention was directed elsewhere for the briefest moment; enough time for me to cast a Bone-breaking Charm at his leg. While the pain distracted him, I finished him off with a Paralysis Curse. Did they think they could take me with such poorly trained baboons?

I turned to the larger Auror, who cast a Cutting Curse straight at me. Surprised, I dived to the left, and the curse missed by an inch. The loss of concentration cancelled my Disillusionment Charm. I considered reapplying it.

_No, leave it._

The larger Auror whispered another curse, though it was not directed at me. Growing suspicious, I conjured a fairly strong shield and searched for objects I could use for transfiguration. There was a flash of blue light; it died away to reveal four Aurors. Upon closer inspection, I realised that the Auror had created illusions of himself. But how could I tell which one was real?

_Use the shadows._

Use the shadows? In any other situation, I would have ignored Voldemort's advice. However, so far, no good had come out of contradicting him. I ducked out of the way of a sickly green hex and cast _Lumos._ Only one of the hirsute Aurors cast a shadow. Using the Auror's temporary blindness, I aimed a Bone-breaking hex at his leg.

I cursed. The Auror somehow managed to dodge it.

"Why are you risking your life for the Ministry?" I said.

"Why are you ruining your parents' good names?"

My teeth clenched. _"_Too far!" I yelled. "_Crucio!"_

The curse hit his chest. His screams filled the still air. I approached him warily, wand trained on him. Strangely, I found his pain endearing, delicious almost. I could feel my power, it was almost tangible. With a flick of my wand I could take this man's life. His very being rested in my hands.

_See how the power longs to embrace you? _

Reluctantly, I lifted the curse. Why was I enjoying this? What was happening to me? My fingers itched to cast the curse again.

_Resistance is futile._

This was only a man sent to do his job...but he had a choice. He could have become a Professor, or an Unspeakable or a host of other things. Would he have even given it thought if I lay on the floor, and he was standing over me?

_No._

He coughed violently and twitched on the floor. His wand had rolled out of his grip. "I beg of you..."

"Would I have gotten mercy if our roles were reversed?"

"I have a family...a wife...two beautiful children..."

"You should've thought of that before coming after an innocent schoolchild."

"I was a friend of your father's...please..."

His eyes were moist and pleading; they told a story. There was a girl, nine years old, with long, dark hair. She was sitting on a swing in a typical suburban garden. A very young boy, possibly her brother, sat on the grass not far from her, wrestling with the hirsute Auror. An attractive woman stood by the swings, hands on her hips. They were all laughing.

_Kill him_.

I held my wand aloft. On one hand, he would have killed me in the blink of an eye had the Ministry ordered him to, of that there was no doubt. On the other, I'd be destroying a family. That boy would never remember what his father was like. The girl would be going to Hogwarts without her father. I'd be no better than Voldemort.

_Kill him as he would have killed you._

What was I thinking? I'd be killing an _Auror_; there'd be no way back – no second chances, even from Dumbledore. I would be killing Voldemort in vain. No, killing the man was foolish. There was no telling where this bloodlust would lead me.

"_Stupefy."_

_You will learn, one day._

I stepped over his body and Disillusioned myself. I had to retrace my steps and find the edge of the Anti-Apparition ward before more Aurors found him, or worse, Dumbledore did.

_There is a public house opposite Borgin and Burkes. Head there._

I cast a Silencing Charm at my feet and crept back up the winding road, careful not to displace any loose stones. It was not long before I encountered two more Aurors, their wands lit, sweeping the immediate vicinity like searchlights. I struggled to keep out of their wandlight in case I cast a shadow, or the air glimmered around me.

"You reckon he did it, then?" grunted one of the Aurors.

"Dunno, to be honest. My youngest keeps telling me he's innocent, and we know how much salt to take with the _Prophet_. I just hope he gives himself up and we can go home."

"Well said. I heard he's been turning, though. S'not like we didn't expect him to – I mean look at his history!"

"If Dumbledore says he's alright, then I reckon he's alright. I can't for the life of me work out why we have so many of us tracking him. He's no Sirius Black, after all."

"He may as well be given all the rhubarb what's been written 'bout him."

"Merlin, I hate this place. Did you see the dregs in that pub?"

"Yeah, there's no money that'd convince me to have a pint in there..."

I released the breath I did not realise I was holding as they turned the corner and were safely out of sight. Without their wandlight, the Alley was surprisingly dark, the only light coming from some sort of shop I could make out down the road.

As I drew closer, I noticed that this building was rather out of place. While it carried the same dingy air as those around it, the architecture was Tudor; a fact I vaguely remembered from my distant knowledge of primary school education. It looked more like a house than a pub. I cancelled the Disillusionment Charm.

_Enter before you are seen._

Reluctantly, I pushed open the door, only to be met with an intoxicating wave of alcohol, smoke and sweat. While it was by no means empty, the pub seemed relatively quiet. The counter was laden with a brown substance, despite the barman scrubbing at it with a dirty cloth. I barely contained a cry of surprise; he had looked up, revealing a long, crooked nose inhabited by a mountain range of boils.

"Yeah?" he grunted.

"Err, nothing."

"You don't buy, you don't stay." He looked at me with narrowed eyes, as if he recognised me.

"Err, I'll have a Butterbeer."

The barman laughed in such a wheezy manner that I thought he might have been coughing. A tall, thin, extraordinarily pale man who had a drink I could have sworn was blood sniggered quietly.

"This isn't the Three Broomsticks, boy. You've obviously lost your way – Diagon Alley's that way." He pointed a gnarled finger towards the far wall.

I gave the barman a cold gaze, one I had seen Tom perform innumerable times. How dare he mock me? It did not take long for him to disappear behind the counter and emerge with a pint of Butterbeer. I left him two Sickles and searched for a table.

The pub was nowhere near as large as the Three Broomsticks, though it did seem vaguely familiar. There were a handful of tables, none of which were free. My choices were limited to squeezing in beside the hags in the far corner and taking a seat at the counter. I wondered why Voldemort had instructed me to come here.

_They will not search for you here. _

Taking the hard wooden stool, I examined the crumbling green wallpaper with some disgust. Couldn't this barman use some sort of fixing charm? The various tapestries that had been hung vicariously around the pub were even more grotesque. Most depicted wars between wizards and goblins in excruciating detail. In one, I spotted a goblin biting into a poor man's intestines. Finally, my eye rested on the one closest to the counter. I almost spat out a mouthful of Butterbeer, but was instead struck by a coughing fit.

This particular tapestry was completely black, except for a skull of the most striking silver, like the moon etched in the night sky. Its mouth hung open and two spears had been pierced through it, their tips laden with a dark substance. The heads of the weapons peeked out of the two dark eye sockets. I had seen this tattoo before and only now did I recognise it as the mark of the Knights. The skull was death; the spears were the destroyers of it. But how on earth did this barman get such an object?

"Beauty, ain't it?" My eyes flicked back towards the barman who had stopped his incessant cleaning, and was looking at the tapestry with the same love an art collector has towards his prize possession.

"Where'd you get it from?" I asked.

"Bought it. Cost me an arm and a leg, it did."

"You_bought_ that? From where?"

"Why do you question me?" His eyes were narrowed, but this time there was hope in them.

"Because I know exactly what it means, and I know that it can't be bought. I'd put a good bet on the same mark being on your arm, come to think of it."

The barman flinched and his eyes darted across the room. "Come with me, boy." I stared him straight in the eye, but found no lust to cause me harm. Even if he did, I doubted I would come off worse.

The barman hobbled towards a door so small, he was forced to stoop low to make his way through. I followed him in, bending over as if bowing to the Queen. This new room was easier to breath in, though the smell of smoke was just as strong. It was dimly lit by candles held in gnarled brackets, meaning I could only really see a table and three chairs. At a guess, I would have dubbed it a dining room, though there was nothing inviting about it.

As soon as the door behind me closed, the barman bowed so low he could have made his way through to the main pub. "Harry Potter," he gasped, "what an honour, what an absolute honour." He took my hand and shook it with both of his. Was this because of the whole Boy-Who-Lived thing? Whatever it was, it was awkward and I didn't like it much, though perhaps that was because all the accumulated dirt on his hands was transferring to mine.

"I can scarcely believe I would see our rightful leader back in my humble pub. What an honour...what an absolute honour..."

I suppressed the part of me that was enjoying his revere and servitude and tried to think this through. This man recognised me as grandfather Maximus' grandson and thought I was returning to lead the Knights.

"My grandfather used to come to your pub?"

His beady little eyes lit up. "Came here? He virtually lived here! Tom worked across the road and they had their meetings in this very room!" His chest swelled with pride.

"And you were part of it?" I asked dubiously.

He pulled up his sleeve, revealing the tattoo. "I never thought I'd see the day...the rightful heir..."

"Didn't my father come in here?"

The barman shook his head sadly. "Your father, good man though he was, didn't see the world the same way as old Maximus Potter. I never thought I'd see another Potter again, yet here you are... Oh! Before I forget, I have something very important for you!"

As the barman hobbled into the darkness, I contemplated his words. So Dumbledore had lied; it seemed as though my grandfather hadn't completely washed himself of his old ways. If what the barman had said was right, Max had wanted to pass his ideals onto James, who was having none of it. And now this former member was looking to me for guidance.

_You heard Dumbledore. You are so very much like Max._

I ignored Voldemort's poisonous words; I had to think for myself. I sighed. Myself? How much of myself did I have left? I had never felt so confused. Should I follow in my grandfather's footsteps? Should I follow in my father's? Should I surrender to Tom? All I knew is that I had to get rid of Voldemort for my own sake.

Fuck the wizarding world. I had to get rid of him for myself. He killed my parents and now he was in my mind. Hell, he almost made me kill that Auror senselessly. The sooner I finish him off, the better. After that? I'll make up with Tracey and stay one step ahead of the Ministry.

_How...admirable._

A wave of anger coursed through me as I recalled the 'Wanted' sign in Knockturn Alley. Some common criminal was I? Do they think they can just turn on me when they want and expect me to come crawling back when I killed Voldemort? I wanted to be an Unspeakable this time last year; I could never imagine myself working for the Ministry now.

My thoughts were interrupted by the barman coming back into view. In his hands was a small, metal box the size of wand packaging. He put it on the table carefully, as if handling a baby. I took an involuntary step towards the box.

"Before he died," said the barman, "old Max came by here one last time. He gave me the strictest of instructions to hand this box to the next descendent of his that walks into my bar. I weren't meant to look for them, see? You had to come to me; that's the way it was meant to be."

I looked at the box. From the layers of dust that had accumulated, I could tell the barman had not touched it for years. I moved my hand towards the lid in anticipation then, out of the corner of my eye, noticed the barman watching almost greedily. Did I want this man looming over me as I opened the box? Did I want him to see my moment of weakness, particularly now that he saw me as a God?

"I'm in a bit of a hurry at the moment, actually. But thank you so much for giving me this."

The barman snapped of his trance and said, "not at all, Mr. Potter, the pleasure is all mine, I assure you. It was an honour to fulfil Maximus' request...an _honour_. I never thought this day would come."

"Thanks," I murmured.

"Forgive me for asking, but will you be restarting the Knight movement, sir?"

There was such hope in his eyes that I couldn't say no. "I could well do. If I do, I'll come by here and use your pub as my grandfather did."

"Too kind, sir, too kind. Will you be Apparating, sir?"

"There's an Anti-Apparition ward around the Alley, actually."

The barman broke into a grizzly grin, and tapped his nose. "You'll be able to Apparate from here, sir. I made sure that, technically, it weren't part of what the Ministry classed as 'Knockturn Alley'."

I muttered my thanks and shook his hand once more, all the while wondering where on earth I could go. Terry's house? Hermione's house? Surely they would be watched now...

_Go to your Muggle barn._

The Dursleys? Voldemort had gone mad. That was the last place on earth I'd go.

_And the last place they would look. Dumbledore has conveniently put wards around it to protect you from...unwelcome guests._

I thought about it, and realised, begrudgingly, that Voldemort was right. Another thought struck me; if I could refuse access to anyone I wanted, I could rid myself of Voldemort once and for all. After all, the wards had kept him out before. Holding on for that hope, I Disapparated, box safely tucked under my arm.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	15. A Knight's Tale, By Maximus Potter

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle: footsteps

**AN:** Merry Christmas!

* * *

_Take one out and scratch my head,_

_I am now black but once was red._

* * *

– **CHAPTER FIFTEEN –**

**A Knight's Tale, by Maximus Potter**

* * *

The smallest bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive. I never thought I would be here again. Yet I had just woken up in that familiar bed fully dressed. The very same bed I had spent those long summers in. The Dursleys had not touched the room, it seemed. Perhaps they were trying to contain the 'freakishness' in this room? That would explain why Petunia had moved my trunk back up here. I swung my legs out of bed, and the rest of my body soon followed. 

This time yesterday, I had woken up after a night with Tracey. What a difference a day makes. Tracey. Now that I had had a night to sleep, I realised what a big mistake leaving her was. She was hysterical; she didn't mean what she'd said. I should have stayed, I should have reasoned with her. What could I do now? Surely it was too late?

I couldn't go and see her myself. The Ministry would be expecting that. I wouldn't risk Hedwig in case they used her as a hostage. I only had two options: send Terry or Hermione. While Terry and Tracey were friends, he would be a liability in such a sensitive matter. It had to be Hermione; she had a way of saying the right things at the right time when she really had to.

I opened my trunk and searched for her telephone number; who knew when Hedwig would come back to Privet Drive? As I did so, my mind turned to the destroyed Ring. It had affected me; that much was certain. It had triggered a memory of Riddle's adulthood, something I had never experienced. So far the oldest he had been was in his Seventh Year. What did this mean?

Then, of course, there was the murder of all those Death Eaters. _I_ had done that. Me. I had killed some of the most powerful and feared wizards in Britain. I could _feel_ my power; power I didn't have two days ago. An absurd thought crossed my mind; it was tied to the Horcrux. I dismissed the thought almost instantly; the Horcruxes affected _Voldemort_, not me. But the signs were there. After the Ring was destroyed, Voldemort somehow entered my mind, and I felt so..._powerful_.

Then there was Knockturn Alley. The hirsute Auror. I wanted to _kill_ him; I _enjoyed_ torturing him. What was I turning into? Perhaps the _Prophet_ was right; maybe I should be locked up. In one day, I had tortured three people, and killed many more. I wasn't turning into Riddle, I was turning into Voldemort.

_But what is the difference?_

I jumped and banged my head against the foot of the bed. Suppressing a cry of agony, I clutched the back of my head. How? How had he wormed his way past the wards? How could I get rid of him?

_The wards remove all unwanted guests, all that wish to do you harm, Harry._

Then the wards had failed. The Ministry would be here soon. It was over. I would rot in Azkaban with my parents' murderer plaguing my thoughts.

_On the contrary, the wards are stronger than ever. No, Harry, it seems like I am no longer an unwelcome guest._

Lies. All his words were intoxicating lies. Perhaps it wasn't Voldemort? Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me? Yes, that made sense. There was no way the wards would let _Voldemort_ in. I was making him up.

_Embrace the truth, Harry, your real enemy is now the Ministry._

There was only one way to get rid of this voice; to get rid of everything. I had to destroy all the Horcruxes. Only then could all of this stop.

_You seek to kill Death himself. Or do you? Do not deny that you enjoy the delicious taste of power. I see it in you as I saw it in Maximus._

This voice isn't real, I thought, I have to ignore it. I found the number tucked at the back of _'Hogwarts: A History'_. Resolute in my vow to ignore this imitation of Voldemort, I went to the door and pulled the handle. Locked. So they _had_ tried to lock all magic in this room. I drew my wand, and muttered,_"Alohamora."_

With a click, the door was unlocked. Since I had the wand in my hand, I thought I may as well summon the handset. There was also a part of me that wanted to see the Dursleys expression at seeing a floating telephone. Unfortunately, there were no screams of shock and anger as the phone flew into my grip. Perhaps they were away. I could always hope.

When I stepped back in my room, I found Hedwig perched on the windowsill, a rolled up copy of the _Daily Prophet_ tied to her leg. I shot her a puzzled look which she returned with an impatient hoot. I placed the phone on the bed and untied the _Prophet_. She nipped my finger affectionately and flew out of the window again.

Deciding to deal with the phone call first, I placed the _Prophet_ next to my grandfather's box and dialled her number. The phone rang and rang and rang. I tapped my foot impatiently as I waited. As soon as I had decided to give up, a man answered.

"Hello?" he said, his voice a little nasal.

"Erm, hi," I replied, "can I talk to Hermione, please?"

There was a pause. "Who is this?"

"A friend of hers from school."

"A friend of hers from _school_?"

"Yeah..."

"You're_sure_ you haven't got the wrong number?"

"Quite sure, yeah."

"I'll get her, then." There was a dull 'thunk,' and I thought I could hear the man, who must have been her father, call her name.

"Hello?" Her voice seemed a little higher than it did face to face, but it was definitely Hermione.

"Hi, Hermione, it's me."

I heard her gasp. "Oh my God...Harry?"

"Yeah. How are you?"

"How am I? How am _I?_ I've been wondering what on earth has happened to you! I mean, obviously the _Daily Prophet_ must be misinformed. I've been trying to get through to you for two days now! Hedwig even came to my house, and I thought..._God,_ Harry, I thought something terrible must have..."

"It's alright, Hermione. I'm alright. We need to meet as soon as possible. This isn't the kind of conversation you have over the telephone..."

"Ha! That's an understatement if ever I heard one. Where on _earth_ are you? I mean the Ministry-"

"I know, Hermione. I'm at Privet Drive. How soon can you get here?"

"Privet Drive? _Privet Drive?_ Harry, you must be joking..."

"I wish I was."

"Gosh...this is so _surreal_. Well, erm, if I can get my dad to drive me, I'll be there in under an hour."

"Ok, see you soon."

"Yeah, very soon."

I hung the phone up and sighed. I had to think of a way of explaining things to her that didn't give much away. I moved to the table and considered opening the box. No, I wasn't ready for it yet; my mind had to be clearer to deal with its contents. Instead, I picked up the_Daily Prophet _and read the headline:

_**Potter Strikes Again**_

_By special correspondent Rita Skeeter_

_In the evening after murdering beloved Wizengamot official Theodore Davis, Harry Potter continued his trail of destruction in the Diagon Alley area, where he decapitated two Aurors and murdered innocent bartender Zacharias Noble._

_Potter was first spotted in Diagon Alley by a classmate of his, whom he threatened. While the classmate in question was too traumatised by the experience to speak to the _Prophet_, a reliable eye-witness said: "I saw Potter threatening the poor boy. He cast a curse I didn't recognise. I thought it might have been You-Know-Who back from the dead at first, but I saw his scar."_

_When apprehended by Aurors, "Dark Lord" Potter made for the sordid Knockturn Alley, where he would be surrounded by those sympathetic to his murderous cause. The Ministry confirmed that two Aurors, who cannot be named, confronted Potter. They were no match for Potter, who is rumoured to have been tutored in the Dark Arts by Sirius Black before his death. _

"_He used the Cruciatus Curse more casually than the Death Eaters did," said one of the Aurors. "I pleaded with him, but that didn't stop him. He would have killed me had we not had back-up on its way."_

_In one final act of terrorism, Potter murdered long-time barman Zacharias Noble, 68, out of cold blood. Investigators later confirmed that magical residue found at the scene matched Potter's. _

"_Potter has become a menace to our society," said Minister Fudge in an emergency conference late last night. "We will be employing the same team of specialised Aurors who orchestrated the neutralisation of Sirius Black. I anticipate the capture and imprisonment of Harry Potter in the coming days."_

I slammed the _Prophet_ on the table. So Fudge was behind this. The Minister for Magic was behind these…these lies! And now they were comparing me to mass murderers like Sirius Black. Agitated, I paced up and down the room.

_We saw it first, all those years ago._

Surely_someone_ saw how absurd this was? Surely there was someone at the Ministry who saw that a schoolkid couldn't possibly be a Dark Lord?

_You understand now that the Knights were not the wrong side._

My grandfather saw it. He knew that the wizarding world was all wrong. He knew that one day they would turn on one of his own; that's why he gave the box to the barman. But who had killed the barman? Was there someone out there trying to frame me?

_Dumbledore, perhaps._

No, Dumbledore wouldn't have anything to gain. I looked down at the article again. The urge to reform the Knights was overwhelming. The wizarding world would deserve it; it was about time the old ways were changed. Instead of Voldemort's crazy Muggle-hating reforms, there could changes for the good. All I had to do was research the old members and reunite them. I could get Hermione and Terry to join.

_Your grandfather would have been proud._

Our first port of call would be to find Voldemort's Horcruxes. The more I thought about it, the more enticing the idea seemed. What would it matter if the Ministry wanted to put me in Azkaban? There would be no Ministry.

_The Knights will ride again._

The doorbell rang.

I peered out of the window, but could not see who it was. Quite sure the Dursleys were away, I bounded down the stairs two at a time and opened door. Before I could even take in who it was, I was enveloped in a hug, bushy brown hair blocking my vision.

"Oh, Harry," she said, releasing me, "the stories I've heard you wouldn't believe…"

"I wouldn't have believed them yesterday," I retorted. "Come, let's go into the kitchen, I'm starving."

Hermione looked around the hallway uncomfortably. "Wouldn't your relatives…"

"They're not in," I said, leading her into the kitchen. The contents of the fridge told me that the Dursleys were on holiday. They only ever put the bread in the fridge if they were away for longer than a week. Judging by the fact that the remaining milk had not yet gone off, it seemed that the Dursleys had only recently left. "You want something to eat?"

"No, I just had breakfast. I took that emergency Portkey you gave me ages ago."

I grunted as I made myself some cornflakes. I could tell Hermione was agitated. "I can see the headlines tomorrow: Hermione Granger visits the Dark Lord."

"Do you think this is funny, Harry?" she snapped. "They're defaming you! It's slander…it's a slur…you should sue!"

"What if I told you it was true?"

Hermione looked at me incredulously. "This isn't a joke! They want to send you to _Azkaban_, Harry! You have to leave the country. I have an uncle who lives in Canada; he can keep you hidden. You could go to normal school and get a job afterwards. They wouldn't think to search in the Muggle world. You could change your hair colour, get contact lenses; you'd be unrecognisable! Once everyone comes back to their senses, you can come back…"

"And why should I come back and pretend nothing ever happened?"

Hermione stared at me. "I know everyone's going mad because of that vile Skeeter hag, but it's only because they don't _know_ you..."

"What's the Ministry's excuse?"

Hermione gave me the same inquisitive look she did when a Professor set her a particularly difficult assignment. "Let's go up to my room," I muttered.

We went up to my room in silence. Hermione sat on my bed, I chose to stand. There was a silence, long and awkward, one neither of us wanted to break. Finally, Hermione said, "what actually happened yesterday?"

I sighed, and tried not to meet her eyes. "I broke up with Tracey."

"Oh, Harry..."

She rose, as if to hug me. "I don't need your sympathy."

I turned away from her and, from my peripheral vision, saw her recoil. I went to the window and looked out at Privet Drive. The morning sun gleamed off Number Seven's brand new Toyota. I did not want to turn around and see the hurt on Hermione's face. Why should I tell her what happened yesterday? It's not as if she'd understand. She'd have probably done the same as Tracey.

_Trust no one and you will never feel hurt._

"Please, Harry, what happened yesterday?"

"You know who Tracey's dad is. I did what I had to do." A black Audi drove past; it was clearly over the speed limit.

"You can't mean that the _Prophet_ is right? Do you expect me to believe _that_?"

_She dares to question you..._

"I didn't expect you to understand." A black cat stalked across the road.

"Harry, look at me..." Her voice was strained with distress. I stared inflexibly at Number Nine's newly mown front lawn. Who is _she_ to demand answers from me?

"Harry, I understand that..."

"Understand? What do you understand?"

"Well..." Her voice was small and distant.

_Her tiny mind couldn't possibly comprehend your situation._

"You're telling me you've been in this position before? When the wizarding world's turned against you, come back to me and tell me what you understand."

"That's hardly fair, Harry..."

"Fair? You're telling _me_ about what's fair? Is this fair? That I've been forced into hiding? Is that fair?" I wanted her to come here as a simple messenger, and now she thought she could lecture me? I felt the familiar itch in my right hand.

"Listen. Please look at me..."

"They want to force me into a corner? Fine. But they'll rue the day they ever betrayed me."

"Harry..." Her voice seemed closer. I regretted ever inviting her over. I needed to do this alone, I saw that much now.

_What better company is there than yourself?_

"Harry..."

I felt her hand on my shoulder. I jumped and drew my wand. I grabbed her with the other hand. Her eyes flicked towards my wand. It was pointing at her throat. Her eyes were wide, full of fear. Her breathing was heavy.

_Embrace the power._

"Harry..." she breathed, her voice small.

Suddenly, it was a tall, familiar black man I held in my grip.

"_Voldemort..." There was fear in his eyes, delicious fear. _

"_You are a disgrace, Thomas."_

"_Please...I have a family..."_

"_What can be done with disgraces?"_

"_I'll do anything...anything..." Fear now sat with desperation and submission._

"_Your father did me a great service. You have renounced his ways. Will you go back on your vows?"_

"_Anything...anything..."_

"_You will appear dead to the world, Thomas. Protection for your...family will be arranged. In return, you will enter my service."_

"I-It's me, Harry. I-It's Hermione."

There was no black man. It was Hermione. It was a vision. I suddenly became aware that I held a wand to her throat. What was I doing? Immediately, I released her. My hand left a red mark. Had I held her so hard?

My eyes moved up towards her face. There were silent tears trickling down it. I stepped towards her, and she backed away. What was I becoming?

"Hermione...I'm sorry."

_You fool._

"I don't know what came over me; I don't know what's becoming of me."

"I think you need to talk to someone," she said quietly. She wore no fear now, only pain.

"No. You don't know what's happening to me; I can't stop it. No one can. You're...you're better off going now before it gets worse." My head began pounding, as if rebelling against the words I was uttering. She had to understand. She had to leave. I could _feel_ Riddle.

"Talk to me, Harry. Please, I beg you, talk to me like you used to. Talk to me like we used to talk in our First and Second Years. Because there's no way you're getting rid of me. Whatever your problem is, it's my problem too."

I looked at Hermione and remembered. I remembered the hours we used to spend talking and laughing in the common room: her, Ron and I. I remembered solving the secret behind the Philosopher's Stone together. I remembered suspecting Malfoy and brewing Polyjuice potion to test him. I remembered the happiness I felt just being away from the Dursleys. I thought I could hear faint hisses of pain.

I looked down at my hands. I felt ashamed. I felt weak. I hadn't fought Riddle's influence. I had let him take me over, slowly but surely. I had let him destroy any emotion other than anger. I had let him run loose over my conscience and instead of fighting him, used the so-called power he gave me. I wasn't even strong enough to fight for myself.

"I've betrayed you, Hermione," I said weakly. "I've betrayed my dad. I've betrayed my mum. I've betrayed my grandfather." I looked up from my hands. "I've betrayed myself."

"I don't understand, Harry..."

"Don't you see? I'm becoming _him_. I'm becoming Voldemort."

Hermione stared at me with little more than shock. "Harry..."

"It started at the end of Second Year," I said, the words rolling off my tongue before I could stop them. "The diary affected me. I started getting memories of Voldemort's childhood at night. After the shock, I started looking forward to them; they were teaching me more about magic than Hogwarts ever did. Didn't you ever wonder why I suddenly got good?" Hermione, though, couldn't seem to find the words.

"For the longest time, it was alright. I was picking up some of his mannerisms, but I never thought that was a bad thing. As the months went on, I started acting more and more like him; enough to get Dumbledore suspicious. That's why we haven't been close since the Chamber." Hermione was torn between shock and incredulity, but now that I had started, I couldn't stop.

"I started to get visions in the daytime this summer. My grandfather and Moody were friends with Voldemort. I kept seeing small visions of them creating this group, the Knights of Walpurgis."

"Your grandfather _made_ that group?" gasped Hermione.

"Yeah, have you heard of it?"

"Heard of it? There's a whole chapter on them in _'Wizarding Movements of the Twentieth Century'_. They were a terrorist group intent on destabilising the government and inducing anarchy. The wizards behind it were never caught."

"They weren't terrorists," I said defensively. "They were trying to move wizarding society out of the Dark Ages."

"Harry," she said incredulously, "they were almost as bad as the Death Eaters."

"Maybe you shouldn't believe everything you read!" I snapped. As Hermione's shoulders fell, I realised that I had done it again. Why was the anger coming so quickly? Why was it so hard to fight Riddle's influence?

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "Do you see what I mean? I can't fight him, Hermione. I can't fight him within my own mind. I killed the Death Eaters. Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and all the rest of them. Dead. And you know what? I don't care. I wanted to kill an Auror yesterday. I tortured him and liked it. It won't be long before I'm killing innocent civilians. I've got this power and anger, and I can't control it. Please, just go."

Hermione took my hand in hers. I flinched at her touch. "Harry, I'm not going to abandon you. I don't care if you've got Riddle in you. I can help you. I want to help you." She went to hug me again. I looked into her eyes. There was nothing but sincerity and love there. Smiling weakly, I accepted her embrace.

I didn't know how long we stood; gripping to each other like death could take us at any moment. I felt as though a Phoenix was singing and warming the cold that had taken grip inside of me. She didn't care that I was a murderer. She didn't care that I was going mad. There was still enough of me, Harry, and that gave me strength. I could do this. I could beat Voldemort.

Finally, Hermione broke away. I told her everything. I told her about the Horcruxes, the Department of Mysteries, the dreams, and the events of yesterday. Resisting the urge to lie, I left nothing out. Her expression flitted from surprise to disapproval to sympathy and back to surprise, but still I kept talking. When I finally finished, it felt as if a dead weight had been lifted from my chest. I almost felt like laughing. Almost.

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione, "how could you go through all that on your own?"

"That's the way I do things," I said quietly.

"Have you opened your grandfather's box?"

"No, I was planning to do it later. Well, I might as well get it out of the way..." I picked up the box – I had forgotten how light it was.

"Do you, you know, want me to leave for this?"

I looked at Hermione. I could see the excitement and expectation she was trying to hide. "No. I want you to see that my grandfather wasn't a bad man. I want you to realise how misunderstood they were." I sat beside Hermione and opened the lid with ease. Inside, I was a little disappointed to find one scroll of parchment tied with a golden ribbon. Carefully, I untied it and unrolled the letter.

_Dearest Harry,_

I stared at the words. How? How could he have possibly known? Perhaps he had found some sort of obscure blood magic? He was a powerful wizard, after all.

_I write this on the eve of my death in the hope that my dear friend Zacharias passes it on to you, for I am sure that it will be you, Harry, who finds this. You are only three months old and asleep next door as I write this, but I can see in your eyes that you will be a leader of men._

_The world is changing. I look out of my window and see nothing but impending doom for wizardkind. Darkness has fallen. Once a brother to me, Tom has turned to madness. _

_You will be indoctrinated, of that I am sure. They will tell you that Tom is evil and all those who fight against him are of the 'light'. Your parents will teach you what magic to use and what magic not to use. Perhaps you are an adult reading this, a bastion of the 'light' and leader of the Order of the Phoenix. If so, my words of warning and advice will fall on deaf ears._

_Tom was not always as he is. He was once a great leader, as you one day will be, and he was a revolutionary thinker. You will be told, I am sure, that I was once involved in a group similar to the Death Eaters. You will be told that I 'came to my senses' and renounced my 'evil' ways. This is not the truth._

_They never understood what we were trying to achieve, Harry. If you show this letter to James, he will blame it on grief at my wife's death, or perhaps senility. But you must know the truth._

_The Knights of Walpurgis were not originally created to defeat death, but this soon became our goal, I will not deny this. Tom, Alastor and I had been robbed of love by death and, seduced by our own talent, we vowed to kill man's greatest enemy. Alastor and I soon saw the error of our ways, for we had created this group in opposition to the hereditary-based system that had failed us._

_You will be told all Potters belong in Gryffindor. This is not true. Tom, Al and I were sorted in Slytherin and suffered at the hands of those so-called 'Purebloods'. You will find, Harry, that seated at the top of society are the oldest Purebloods; our leaders, the Wizengamot, are chosen by the family one is born into. If you took a moment to read a list of its members, you will find the Blacks, the Malfoys, the Greengrasses, the Bones', the Lestranges and other ancient, blind, inbred swines. They do not care for ordinary wizards, only for themselves. How many non-Purebloods are there in the top Ministry jobs? None._

_Hogwarts is no better. From the age of eleven, you are separated, often according to blood-type. How many Muggle-born Slytherins do you know of? From the day you are segregated, you are taught to hate each other. We saw this, Harry, and we rebelled against these antiquated ideals. _

_The Knights of Walpurgis are not terrorists. We merely sought to kill the Minotaur at the heart of the labyrinth._

_But I am dying. I have tried, away from prying eyes, to keep the movement alive all my life. It was difficult, Harry, for my original co-conspirators were no longer interested in our original goals. I cannot blame Alastor – he was committed to his work and has become a fantastic Auror, but Tom turned his back on us. _

_You can succeed where I have failed. There are still those sympathetic to our cause. You can use these uncertain times to your advantage. The Ministry's incompetence will be exposed, and when it is, you can strike. Violence will not be necessary, for this is a political movement of peace. The key to the movement lies in this box._

_As I welcome death with open arms, I bestow upon you all my love and trust. It pains me that we shall never speak together._

_With all my heart and all my soul,_

_Your loving grandpapa._

I read it again and again and again, savouring every last word. My eyes were stinging. He was there when I was a baby. He trusted me with this. He loved me. While it may have been obvious that, as his grandson, he loved me, seeing it written on paper brought it home. Until now, he had seemed a legendary figure long before my time. But now...now I felt closer to him than I had done anyone in my life. He would have understood. He would have helped me. He knew that one day I would turn to him.

I read through the letter yet another time. _As I welcome death with open arms..._ He wasn't like Voldemort; he was trying to make the world a better place. Those books Hermione had read were wrong..._ this is a political movement of peace._ He knew what Dumbledore would say.

"_The key to the movement lies in this box_," recited Hermione, her brow furrowed. "What does that mean?"

"There must be a message somewhere in the letter," I said. Even to me, my voice sounded distant.

"Harry, look in the box..."

I followed Hermione's gaze and caught a glimpse of gold in the shadow that shrouded the metal box the letter had been stored in. I reached out and picked up a small, shiny key. It had been fashioned into the shape of a spear, though the head was ridged in such a way that told me it was made for a specific lock. There was a tiny inscription down the shaft of the spear. I had to squint to read it: _'The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.'_

"Is this the key he meant?" I wondered aloud.

"It could mean so many things," muttered Hermione, scanning through the letter. "I wonder whether it ties into the Greek reference..."

"What?"

"_We merely sought to kill the Minotaur at the heart of the labyrinth._ Well, the 'Minotaur' is clearly a metaphor for the heart of the Ministry, but it seems like a very odd reference to make."

"I've heard them talk about a 'labyrinth', you know, in one my visions. It could all be linked."

"Possibly. Gosh, this is so much to take in. I mean, it's not like you haven't got enough on your plate without leading a long-dead underground movement."

"It's not long-dead," I snapped, "there are still living members. And he was right, he's right about everything."

"So you're going to abandon your hunt for Horcruxes?" said Hermione derisively.

"No," I said, with a hint of austerity. "I'm going to deal with Voldemort first..."

Hermione looked at her watch and gasped. "Is that the time? I didn't tell my parents I was going out, Harry, they might have called the police by now! Listen, I'm going to come back tomorrow and we can work through this letter properly and work out from your visions where You-Know-Who's Horcruxes are, alright?"

"Yeah," I said distantly, looking down at the letter again.

I barely heard Hermione leave the room.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	16. The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. The riddles, more apt to this story than the famous quotes other authors use, definitely do not belong to me. The answer to the previous chapter's riddle: a match. No riddles from now on – we're getting close to the finale. The long gap between updates was due to January exam revision, which is over now.

**Thanks to:** The lads at AFC for reversing the fortunes of this chapter, and the next, particularly the second half of it.

* * *

– **CHAPTER SIXTEEN –**

**The Best Laid Plans of Mice and Men**

* * *

A week had passed. There were reported sightings of me, as well as serialised stories by my classmates every day in the _Daily Prophet_. Tired of its lies, I stopped the subscription two days ago. Hermione had stayed true to her word and visited every day for four days. She had convinced me to divulge the Horcrux information to Terry too, though he was still blissfully unaware of Riddle's influence. Together, we searched for possible objects Voldemort could have used, but to little avail. 

The fifth day was September the First. I felt a twinge of longing knowing that I was not going back to Hogwarts. While I did not receive a letter officially expelling me, turning up at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters was the equivalent of handing myself in. So I had spent three lonely days at Privet Drive staring blankly at Hermione's detailed Horcrux notes.

More often than not, I would take out my grandfather's letter and read it through again, trying to work out any of the clues. I thought wistfully about what it would be like to reform the Knights. How the Ministry would pay... Despite Hermione's misgivings, Terry seemed almost as taken by the idea of the Knights as I was. He and I had spent some hours talking about what we would like to change, with Hermione tutting in the background as she tried to find anything she could about properties of Horcruxes.

The supposed voice of Voldemort was highly unpredictable. Invariably, though, it would appear when I was either alone or angry. It would latch on to any stray thought and try to convince me to abandon my Horcrux hunt, instead focussing solely on reforming the Knights. I ignored the voice, I knew now that its interpretation of the Knights' work was wrong.

There was a dull tapping at my window. I looked up in alarm. My jaw almost fell – it was Derwent, Tracey's owl. Far from her usual majesty, her mahogany feathers were ruffled and her large, red eyes even wider than normal. I scrambled to the window and let the poor owl in. He hooted thankfully and stuck his leg out for me. I took what looked like a scrap piece of parchment, before he flew to Hedwig's empty cage.

I hastily unravelled the parchment. There were two words scrawled on them:

_Help me_

I froze.

The writing was scrawled. She must have been in a hurry – her handwriting was usually a neat script. I read it again. What had happened? How could I find out? I considered sending a letter to Hermione. No, it might be too late by then.

An idea suddenly hit meWho was the one person who Tracey trusted above all others? Who was the one person, above all others, who would tell me the truth? Her mother.

_You are running into a trap, you fool._

I didn't care. I had to find out what happened. I had to help her. I hastily tucked the letter into my robes and grabbed my invisibility cloak. Looking around one last time, I Apparated directly into Mrs. Jones' hallway.

As soon as the uncomfortable sensation of Apparition wore away, I flung my invisibility cloak around me. After all, there was no telling who Mrs. Jones had around. Though she was an affable, hospitable woman, she was a staunch ally of Dumbledore's.

"Let me see who that is!" I heard her say from the living room. I tensed. So she had someone around. Should I leave now? No, it might be one of her Muggle friends.

The living room opened to reveal a portly woman with dark, curly hair, though she wasn't wearing her trademark grin. She closed the door behind her and looked around. "Who is it?" she said sharply.

Sure that nobody had followed her out, I let the invisibility cloak slip. Mrs. Jones gasped before looked behind her quickly. She approached me quickly, and led me up the stairs, finger on her lips. Once we were in the safety of her bedroom, I knew from my last visit that it had secrecy charms in-built, she hugged me briefly. Surprised, I stood uncomfortably.

"Harry, I've been so worried," she said, her voice high and rushed.

"You don't believe the _Daily Prophet_?" I said.

"Of course not," she said briskly. "Harry, you shouldn't be here." Her eyes kept flicking towards the door nervously.

"I know, I should've knocked, but this is important."

"This really isn't the time..."

"I got a message from Tracey just now."

Her eyes flicked towards the door once more. "Go on, then, but make it quick."

A little taken aback by her brusque tone, I said, "look at this." I showed her the parchment, expecting shock.

I was not disappointed; Mrs. Jones looked flabbergasted. It was only then that I realised how red and watery her eyes was, as if she had been crying. "Are you alright, Mrs. Jones?"

"Harry, haven't you read today's _Daily Prophet_?" I shook my head slowly, trying to work out what was wrong. "Oh, my poor boy, you wouldn't have heard..."

"Harry?"

My eyes flicked towards the door. Stood in the doorway was Albus Dumbledore, no more than a step behind him Severus Snape. Instinctively, I drew my wand. There was no Disapparating from this room, that much I knew.

"Headmaster," spat Snape, never taking his eyes off me, "here is some luck at last."

"Don't even think about hurting him," said Mrs. Jones venomously. "I won't have more of my loved ones harmed by your hand." It was as if she had dealt me a deadly blow, or turned my blood cold.

"What happened to Tracey?" I said, my voice shaking with trepidation.

"We must talk in a less heated atmosphere," said Dumbledore calmly.

"I must take this opportunity if you will not, Dumbledore," said Snape, drawing his wand. "She is my student, after all."

"One spell and I'll kill you, you snake!" shrieked Mrs. Jones.

I could feel my anger rising.

_Keep calm. Remind Severus Snape of his murder of the Jones family._

I breathed deeply. I had to keep a clear mind. Anger wouldn't help the situation. "Do I have to remind you that you're not welcome here, Snape?" I said, before I could stop myself.

"Even when guilty of murder, you see fit to emanate arrogance in your every movement. Finally, the law must step in."

I stepped towards Snape, my eyes trained on him. "You should know about murder, _Severus_, was it not you who destroyed Mrs. Jones' family?"

My words were met with silence. Snape's beetle-black eyes widened and, for the first time, I saw fear in them. He took a step backwards. "It cannot be..."

"Severus," said Dumbledore firmly, "I think it would be best if you returned to Hogwarts. Your role here, I believe, has been fulfilled."

_Here is a man who deserves death. You can grant him this._

"Dumbledore, this is not Potter!" said Snape in terror.

"Leave my home, Snape," said Mrs. Jones shakily.

"Dumbledore, please listen, this is not Potter!"

_See how he demeans you. It is only two words, Harry, and you know them well._

"You are, I am afraid, quite mistaken," said Dumbledore quietly.

"It is the Dark Lord!" cried Snape. "I tell you, Headmaster, I know Potter, and this is not he!"

_This is the last of my Death Eaters. Finish the job you have started._

"Leave now, Severus," I said quietly, my wand trained on the Potions Master.

Snape's eyes flicked from Dumbledore to me incredulously. His lips thinned dangerously before he swept down the stairs, his greasy hair the last of him to disappear from sight.

"Tell me what happened to Tracey," I demanded.

"You must calm down, Harry, he feeds on your anger." My mouth suddenly felt dry. How did he know? Did Hermione tell him? Did he rape her mind?

"How long have you been using Legilimency on your students, Dumbledore?" I yelled.

"I am unsure as to what you mean. Hestia, my dear, would you be so kind as to give Harry and I some privacy? There are some pressing and private matters that we must discuss."

"You will not give him up?" said Mrs. Jones tearfully.

"I will do all I can within my power to stop it from happening. I will be with you shortly to discuss how we can help Miss. Davis."

"Thank you, Professor." She looked at me sadly. "Please don't go after her, Harry. I beg of you. She didn't know what she was doing when she wrote that. We'll work out another way..." Her eyes were brimming with tears. She touched my shoulder then walked quickly from the room, her shoulders shaking.

"Snape was here," I said quietly. "Mrs. Jones has been crying. You want to help Tracey. Why don't you tell me what everyone else seems to know?"

Dumbledore sighed, and I thought he looked older than ever. "The Ministry has seen fit to take Miss Davis into custody on falsified charges of Dark Art use. It is my belief that they are holding her hostage in the hope that you will give up your own freedom in return for hers."

My heart sunk. I couldn't believe it. Those dirty rats. As if they hadn't done enough. I closed my eyes and could feel the blood pounding in my head. I wanted to rip them apart. I wanted to run into the Ministry and kill every last person there, starting with Fudge. My whole body was trembling. They had taken Tracey. They had actually taken her.

_Now is the time for you to show that Harry Potter is not a man to be taken lightly._

"Relax your body, Harry," said Dumbledore , "clear your mind. Let your Occlumency take effect. Look at me. You must understand that the situation will be rectified without your involvement."

"They've taken her," I said distantly.

"Yes, but I will use my position to overrule the Minister's decision, Harry. There are ancient laws preventing the Ministry from arresting the underage without concrete evidence. Miss. Davis will be released within the week, I promise you." I had never heard such urgency in Dumbledore's voice.

_How has he not cleared _your_ name? He has had a week for that..._

I couldn't trust Dumbledore. I had to get Tracey myself. "They say I killed a member of the Wizengamot. You can't convince them to support me now."

What if I turned up and they locked us both up, as I know they would? I had to come up with something. I had to prepare an escape plan. I had to take down the Ministry, starting with the Minister himself.

"You have a more pressing problem, if such a thing could exist. You must stop searching for Horcruxes."

I turned towards Dumbledore so quickly, my neck cricked. Ignoring the pain, I stared at the old Headmaster. "Why? This is what it's all about, isn't it? Killing Voldemort..."

"You must stop searching for the Horcruxes for your own sake. You see, Harry, I have made a discovery concerning the Horcruxes. Your scar is no normal curse scar; it is a link to Voldemort and, by association, his Horcruxes. When I destroyed the Horcrux, you felt intense pain did you not?" I nodded slowly. "With each Horcrux destruction, you are being infused with memories and knowledge that are not your own. The power in these objects is being transferred to you. This, inadvertently, occurred in the Chamber of Secrets with the diary. It is my belief that you have been troubled by dreams concerning Tom's childhood for some time. However, these dreams intensified just before the start of term, did they not?"

There was no curiosity in Dumbledore's gaze, only certain knowledge. He knew the truth. "Yes," I said reluctantly, "they started happening in the daytime."

"It is as I feared. You see, Harry, inspired by some knowledge I had acquired, I found and destroyed another of Voldemort's Horcruxes, Slytherin's locket. This is why you were able to overcome Theodore Davis with such ease. It instilled you with the knowledge and power of Riddle during his early adulthood. Blissfully unaware of these events, I searched for the ring, as you did. I had some inkling of its location, but to no degree of certainty.

"However, when it came to my attention that you had arrived at Little Hangleton, I knew it was there. I also knew that, while your talent was substantial, it was not enough to discover the Horcruxes without help. At this point, I did not understand where this help came from. Following the attack in Little Hangleton, I realised the truth.

"Voldemort, Harry, is not to be underestimated. He does not trust. He was alerted of your presence near his precious Horcrux and sent his strongest, most loyal Death Eaters to apprehend you. However, even these accomplished witches and wizards could not match the raw power you wielded in the wake of another injection of power.

"It is of the utmost importance that you cease to search for the Horcruxes. The Ministry have inadvisably incited your anger and Voldemort's power is taking hold of you. I fear, Harry, that one more Horcrux will be enough for Riddle to take you over entirely."

I licked my dry lips. "If that's what it takes to get rid of him, then so be it. I won't stop looking for the Horcruxes."

Dumbledore gripped my shoulder, causing me to recoil. "You must stop looking for them. Voldemort is now weak and without his Death Eaters. He is not a threat. However, in control of an exceptionally powerful wizard, he can cause damage equivalent to his first rising. You _must_ stop looking for Horcruxes."

"I can't," I said quietly, "I just can't."

"You are no longer searching for them in an attempt to complete the Prophecy. There is in you a natural, deep-seated lust for power, power the Horcruxes fulfil. I am being quite direct with you in an attempt to make you understand. One more Horcrux, and there will be no more Harry Potter, only Tom Riddle."

"What's the point?" I said quietly. "I can't live like this anymore. I have to get rid of Riddle altogether, and if that means I'll have to endure more of his influence before that, then so be it."

"Fate has gifted us with time, Harry, let us use it. I have not and will not condemn you for your actions of the past, as others have, for I know they were committed by Tom Riddle, not Harry Potter. Unfortunately, there is no route back into Hogwarts at the current time. I offer you the role of apprentice to me, Harry, and together we will find a solution to your problem that does not further exacerbate it. I will conceal you from the Ministry in a way that does not result in your solitary confinement at Privet Drive."

_And what then of your plans to destroy the Ministry?_

I looked up at him quickly. So he did know. So the wards did work. I considered his offer. Part of me was tempted to take him up on it. I could learn magic I had never dreamt of from him and, once I got rid of Riddle, I would just quit the apprenticeship.

_Would Maximus have allowed this bumbling old man to, essentially, control him?_

Realistically, I could not accept. I hated to admit it, but Voldemort was right. Firstly, I did not trust him to release Tracey. The Wizengamot was surely staunchly against me and all I stood for. Furthermore, I was resolved in following in the footsteps of my grandfather, footsteps Dumbledore would disapprove of. No, I had to leave now. Dumbledore had confirmed my suspicions about the Horcruxes, but also inadvertently gave me an idea of where the next one was: Azkaban.

_And what better starting point from which to renew the Cause?_

It made sense. The urgency and vehement warnings against rescuing Tracey were because he knew that I would find one of Voldemort's Horcruxes there. The fact that Voldemort had managed to place a piece of his soul in one of the most secure places in Britain meant that he had some sort of contact at the place. If he had a contact there, it meant I had a chance of rescuing Tracey, grabbing the Horcrux and escaping.

"Your offer is very tempting, sir," I lied, "but I'm not sure at the moment. I...I need some time to think about it."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed very slightly and he eyed me intently. I kept my mind blank and my expression neutral. Seemingly satisfied, he nodded. "I would hasten to advise you to remain at Privet Drive while you consider, for the sake of security. When you have arrived, I hope, at the right decision, I would be grateful if you Apparated here to inform Hestia. Owls coming into Hogwarts are being watched."

I nodded and left the room before Dumbledore changed his mind. I considered comforting Mrs. Jones. No, I had to leave now.

Barely wincing at the previously uncomfortable sensation of rapid Apparition, I began pacing up and down the newly materialised second bedroom of Number Four Privet Drive. I had to do something. They'd taken her. She was in Azkaban. There were fucking Dementors crawling all over her.

_Now is not the time for panic..._

"Shut up," I hissed. I could Apparate into the Ministry and let them take me. Once in Azkaban, I could somehow find a way out, taking Tracey and the Horcrux with me.

_Such foolishness...such childish ignorance._

"I said shut up!"

I did not care that I was screaming at my own subconscious. All that mattered was that Tracey was rotting away in a cell. My head began pounding, the hub of the pain undoubtedly my scar. I clutched it, my eyes closed. A face kept flickering in and out of view. Riddle?

"_You really think we can take Azkaban?" I opened my eyes. Riddle was sitting on a bed very similar to mine, looking utterly comfortable and confident. Max was pacing up and down in front of him._

"_They say Azkaban is impenetrable; this is not true."_

"_Seriously...Azkaban? Nobody's _ever_ infiltrated it..."_

_There was a flash of anger in Tom's eyes. "Then we shall be the first. We have no other choice."_

_Max ran a hand through his hair anxiously. "I'm sure I can rally some support to do this politically..."_

"_Do you not care for your own comrade?"_

"_Of course I do," said Max, agitated, "but _Azkaban_? We're only two men, barely out of school."_

"_Do not undermine our achievements," said Tom coolly. "Cygnus is an important component to our cause. His incarceration in Azkaban holds no benefit."_

_Max stared at Tom curiously. Suddenly, his eyebrows rose so high, they were almost lost in his messy black fringe. "You're going to hide one there, aren't you?"_

_Tom stared at Max coldly, though I could almost feel his anger. "Have I not assured you time and time again that I have not made any more Horcruxes? Why do you no longer trust me?"_

_Max bit his lip then sighed. "Fine. Sorry. But I still don't get how..."_

"_Do you know the salary of an Azkaban worker, Maximus?"_

"_Err-"_

"_A measly one thousand Galleons a year. It is a Ministry failing, one we can capitalise on."_

_Max, catching on, broke into a wide, cruel grin. "Are you saying-"_

"_How would this very same Azkaban worker, who works in the most depressing slum of the wizarding world, react to _ten_ thousand Galleons and a chance to exact revenge against his employers?"_

"_Tom Riddle," said Max quietly, "you are a genius."_

_Tom smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes._

Max and Tom faded away, and instead my old bed lay at my feet, empty as the moment I left it.

_You see, Potter, imbeciles who wear their hearts on their sleeves...they achieve nothing._

I sat on my bed. The voice...Voldemort...whatever it was...was right. I couldn't possibly make a plan in a rage. It would be counterproductive. The idea of bursting into Azkaban seemed absurd now. They would surely place me in one of the high security cells. But why was Voldemort helping me?

_You are so very much like your grandfather, Harry Potter._

I am destroying your Horcruxes.

_They have failed me. They did not provide me with a body, as I had initially calculated. You are doing me a service, Harry, by destroying them. I will find another way..._

Where are the rest of your Horcruxes, then?

_I...do not remember._

Liar.

_Brave like your parents. Horcruxes are living parts of me; I cannot actively seek them out with their destruction in mind. It would be no different than turning your wand on yourself and uttering the Killing Curse. It cannot be done. I made a mistake by so hastily creating them. Yes, Harry, Lord Voldemort was mistaken. It was your grandfather's wisdom that I should have followed, but instead I now exist as mere spirit, trapped in your mind._

Did you succeed?

_Elaborate._

Getting your ally out of Azkaban. Did you succeed?

_Come now, Potter, you answer this._

Who did you use?

_Let me tell you a story. Very many years ago, a man named Darius MacDonald worked as a cleaner in Azkaban. He was subjected to similar torture to the prisoners, but he was supporting a family of five children. Maximus approached this man and offered him the chance to enact his fantasies of earning enough to make ends meet and deal a deadly blow to his employers that he despised more than anything in the world._

_Your family is undoubtedly financially secure, Harry. Maximus offered this man double his salary to kill the Head Guard, and allow me into Azkaban. The plan succeeded. Our comrade was freed. Maximus used his political influence to promote MacDonald. He is, at this current time, the Head Guard of Azkaban after years of..._diligent_ service._

I blinked and let the story sink in. The plan was so simple, so effective. Suddenly, I remembered one of the dreams of Riddle. He was talking to an old Woman. There was a shiny, golden goblet...or was it a cup? It had the Hufflepuff insignia etched into it. Surely this must be the one. It coincided with Riddle's visit to Azkaban.

How do I contact this man?

_You cannot rely on this man alone, Harry. You have much to learn._

But you said...

_The Ministry of Magic would not explicitly trust one man with their fortress. Even they are not this imprudent._

But you and Max...

_I used my so-called Death Eaters to create a distraction. The mass break-out earlier this year was possible since the Ministry were working on the post-tournament costs of the Tri-Wizard with a very un-co-operative Durmstrang._

So I need to cause a distraction. I thought quickly. What would be a big enough distraction? A sighting of me, maybe. But would that be all?

_No. You are not yet strong enough to overcome the Ministry's full strength in battle. You must use leverage and carefully plan your escape. Come now, Harry, think._

So I need something that makes me a big target, but untouchable. A dark thought entered my mind. But it was too vicious, too risky.

_Do not discard it so hastily._

What if I took somebody important hostage?

_Yes..._

Someone who couldn't fight back...someone who I could get to quite easily. Someone who would mean the Minister of Magic himself would come out to me.

_Nearly there, Harry._

My heart was beating far quicker than usual. No, surely not. He doesn't...he doesn't have a son, does he?

_Very good, Potter. Tullius Fudge, eleven years old, is the son of the Minister. Ravenclaw, if his family is anything to go by. He is not protected in anyway more than any other student. You see, Potter, Fudge has been a firm supporter of Hogwarts for many years. As such, he is required to enrol his son into the school. Not doing so would undermine his own policies, and administering extra protection for the boy would imply that the school does not provide enough defence for its students. You see how Fudge has spun himself into your hands?_

The boy's innocent, though, I don't want to hurt him. It's his father who should be punished. I restrained some of the bubbling hatred I had towards the Minister.

_The fate of the boy lies in your hands._

I stood up and began pacing once more. So, I'm going to talk to this Head of Azkaban. Tell him that I'm the grandson of Maximus Potter and that I want Tracey freed and the Hufflepuff Cup delivered to Number Four, Privet Drive. Meanwhile, I'll get someone at Hogwarts, probably Terry, to take Fudge's son into Hogsmeade. I'll have to deliver my Invisibility Cloak. Where could I keep the boy?

_The Shrieking Shack. You must be ready with a Portkey._

I shuffled over to the foot of my bed and opened my trunk. There was an emergency Portkey somewhere in there... I emptied the trunk roughly and, after a few seconds of searching, found one of Uncle Vernon's old socks. I checked for the small 'P' and found it at the base of the sock.

A chilling thought entered my mind. How do I know they won't kill me on sight?

_Spells travel at a certain speed. Since the space between you and the boy will be smaller than you and the nearest Hit Wizard, they will not harm you. When you receive the message from MacDonald, you release the boy and almost instantaneously take the Portkey. _

I thought on the plan. It seemed brilliant, almost too good to be true.

Almost trembling with excitement, I grabbed a spare piece of parchment and wrote:

_Terry,_

_I need you to do something really, really important. They took Tracey to Azkaban. I'm going to get her out. I want you to get Tullius Fudge to follow you to that secret tunnel into Honydukes. Stun him if you have to. Get under the Invisibility Cloak and meet me outside the Shrieking Shack with him at 11pm tonight. Don't tell anyone. _

_I'm relying on you, mate._

_Harry._

_P.S. Invisibility Cloak's attached._

I tapped the piece of parchment and the words rearranged themselves into an inane message from Terry's mother. I thought of Terry's magical signature and applied the rune of recognition. On top of that, I applied the rune of deception. It wasn't infallible, but it should dodge Ministry detection.

With a flick of my wand, a sheet of wrapping paper was conjured, blue with gold stars. With another, my beloved invisibility cloak rose and was covered with a cocoon of wrapping paper. I rolled the message up and tied it, and the package, up to his leg with a piece of string that had been lying around. I looked around. I'd have to use Derwent, though he gave me a look that clearly told me he was unimpressed.

"Sorry, boy," I said and tapped his head with my wand. Like I had poured a bucket of paint on his head, his mahogany feathers were slowly swallowed up by a dirty hazel colour. He hooted indignantly. "It's only temporary. I need you to get this to Terry, but not at the Great Hall. Remember the library? Yeah, that's where he should be. Go as quickly as you can. Thanks."

Derwent blinked once in understand before taking off, still oddly majestic despite his unflattering new coat.

I watched Derwent become a speck against the midday sun. Yes, the Minister would pay.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	17. The Point of No Return

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine.

* * *

– **CHAPTER SEVENTEEN –**

**The Point of No Return**

* * *

It was ten o'clock. The sun had finally relented to the comforting blanket of night. I was walking down the South Bank, London, just as I had been instructed. My pace was not too quick, or too slow. I weaved in and out of gaping tourists, photographing themselves on the romantic backdrop of Big Ben, which itself was illuminated by golden lights at its base. Contacting MacDonald was difficult enough, but he had insisted on a face-to-face meeting. I cursed him for choosing such a conspicuous location. 

"Uh, excuse me," said a Japanese man. He was smiling widely and pointing from his camera to his short, slim girlfriend, also smiling. I checked my watch quickly then relented.

"Thank you, thank you," he stuttered, bowing low.

I positioned the camera so that he and his girlfriend were in the centre, silhouetted against the Houses of Parliament. Around them, the River Thames glistened blue, gold, green, white and all the other colours offered by the lights from the buildings on the north bank. They would treasure this picture, I was sure. I was even surer that they would not be smiling if they knew their camera was in the hands of a wanted man.

_Pathetic Muggles..._

I handed them back their camera and returned their smile fleetingly. The man thanked me again and I was on my way before I was asked by another couple. I looked to my right. A squat, elongated building was marked 'London Aquarium'. On a bench beside the green, MacDonald had said. Riverside.

I increased my pace a little. I had to be at the Shrieking Shack no later than 10:59. That would be when Dumbledore will realise two of his students had left.

Finally, a small park appeared on my right. It seemed out of place amongst the attractions of the South Bank. Under the cover of darkness, it seemed almost eerie. I scanned the area. There were two clowns performing in an open space by the park. They had drawn in a small, mismatched crowd of couples and skaters.

There were two benches, each facing the river. One was empty, the other occupied only by an old woman. As I drew closer, I noticed that she wore a flowery shawl around her tightly curled grey hair and appeared rather short and portly – her feet did not reach the ground. I sat on the opposite end of the bench. That was what we had agreed on. He would be an old woman; I would be a twenty-something.

"Harry Potter," he said, his voice feeble and croaky, "it is a pleasure."

"Likewise. I hear that my grandfather did you a great favour many years ago."

"I will not deny that he turned my life around, and all it cost was the life of another. Fancy that."

I tensed. Was that flippant, or was there bitterness there? "I represent two parties who you owe goodwill. Goodwill that you can repay in one go."

"Two parties?"

"Yes, two parties; Tom Riddle and Maximus Potter."

"Both are dead, and I'm not liable to repay the dead."

I tore my gaze from the sparkling water and stared at MacDonald. Despite Polyjuicing himself into an old woman, his jaw was set and there was a glint of danger in his eyes. "Where would you be without my family?" I held his gaze, refusing to break eye contact. "I'll tell you; you'd be in Azkaban for not being able to pay your debts. Your wife would have left you; your children would have hated you. You were heading into disaster when my grandfather saved you."

"He benefitted too," replied MacDonald, though he was picking at his old, gnarled nails uncomfortably.

"I'm not here to mess around," I said coldly. "Either you're the man who can help me or not. Because if not, I'll leave now and see if I can turn a cleaner's life around. I'm sure _they'd_ be far more co-operative."

I sent him a withering look before getting up. He paled as the implications of my words sunk in. "Wait!"

I turned around, eyebrow raised. "Yes?"

He smoothed his ridiculous pink, frilly dress awkwardly. "Fine, I'll do it. I-I owe you that much." I snorted – more like he was scared for his life.

"Right, later on tonight, the Minister will pay you a visit. He will instruct you to release Tracey Davis."

"Preposterous..." muttered MacDonald. "Impossible, even."

"Perhaps now, but in a few hours it will make perfect sense. He will order you to release Tracey and you will comply. However, this is not the only thing you will do."

MacDonald blanched and looked faint. "You want another prisoner freed? There's no way I could possibly...not with the Minister right there..."

"It's not a prisoner I want." MacDonald visibly relaxed, but his old eyes narrowed suspiciously. "There is an important artefact hidden somewhere in the prison – you have probably come across it. It bears the badge of Hufflepuff house."

"The Hufflepuff Cup?" whispered MacDonald faintly.

"Yes, I want it to be sent with Tracey, transfigured, naturally."

"An object of such magical-"

"Cut the shit," I snapped. "We both know that it becomes a normal drinking cup when threatened. Send it along with Tracey."

"I don't believe this..."

"You don't need to, just do as I say."

"And I'll be paid?"

I turned my head slightly to one side, bemused. "MacDonald," I said quietly, "isn't your life payment enough?"

I smiled again and walked away, knowing he would comply.

* * *

10:50. Shrieking Shack. 

I had never been one to fall prey of bedtime stories made to cause fear, mainly because I had never been told a bedtime story. I had listened to Terry regale tales of gore about the Shrieking Shack. The ghosts, he said, were the most violent known to man and caused havoc, killing all those who stepped in the abandoned house.

Why, if ghosts are to be feared, is Hogwarts full of them? Why are they never heard on Hogwarts weekends when students get as close as they dared? Why has the Ministry not banished the ghosts if they present a threat to the local villagers? Terry failed to answer even one of those questions, and now I knew why. There were no ghosts.

The Shack was a wreck – that I could not deny. It was as if an angry Hippogriff had been let loose. There was broken furniture, blood across the floor, torn curtains, smashed windows. It was perfect. The natural, deep-seated fear of the place will subdue the Aurors.

I looked at my watch. Five more minutes now. I was relying on so many things and it discomfited me. I was relying on either Terry and the boy being seen at some point or Dumbledore following procedure and alerting the Ministry. Surely, since the Fudge boy was involved, failure to drop the Ministry a line would result in his sacking? All in all, I wanted Fudge here. How he would pay for what he had done to me. He will lose everything tonight; I will make sure of that.

I glanced at my watch. Three minutes. If Dumbledore pursued Terry himself, I could only hope he didn't intercept Terry and the boy. There's no way an invisibility cloak would fool him. As long as I had the boy at wandpoint, I could convince the Headmaster to alert the Ministry. It was a shame that I would be irrevocably losing Dumbledore's support, but I knew it would inevitably occur when I destroyed the Hufflepuff Cup.

Two minutes.

Finally, I would show the wizarding world that I wouldn't lie down in Privet Drive for the rest of my life. I will make sure that the Ministry fell, starting with its bumbling head of state.

I glanced around the Shack once more, stroking the sock in my pocket as I did so. The Aurors would come in the front entrance and surround me, making sure all the exits were covered. They would apply anti-Apparition wards and anti-Portkey wards. Unfortunately for them, I would not be making a Portkey. Their wards would only cover recently created Portkeys – the one in my pocket was one of the first I had experimented on two years ago. I smiled. It was almost too good a plan.

One minute.

Sixty seconds. That was all I had to wait. What if my suspicions were wrong and Dumbledore didn't know where his students were at all times? What if Terry did a perfect job? I had covered all possible mistakes, but not the possibility of things going too well. I could parade the boy down the Alley, but that might get me too far away from the Shrieking Shack. It was of the utmost importance for me to be surrounded in the uninviting surroundings of the Shack.

I glanced at my watch and perked up. Eleven o'clock had come and gone.

Where was Terry?

I glanced out of what would have been the window of the living room. There was no sign of any other living soul.

Two minutes had passed.

Had he been apprehended? He would have been smart enough to put the Invisibility Cloak over he and the boy out sight of any portraits – we had figured out they were Dumbledore's messengers long ago. Perhaps he had run into Dumbledore? The old Professor would have seen my plan like writing on a page.

Three minutes had passed.

One of the floorboards creaked. I jumped and drew my wand. Was it Terry? Was it Dumbledore?

It had come from the doorway.

"I want to go back to Honeydukes!"

"_Accio Cloak!"_

A silvery stream of cloth came towards me and I caught it deftly. Two boys appeared from underneath – one was a very annoyed Terry Boot. The other was a short, plump boy with mousy hair and watery grey eyes. He carried with him a fistful of Honeyduke sweets.

"I told you we're going to scare someone," muttered Terry indignantly.

I shot Terry a bemused look. Tullius Fudge looked up at me, his expression adopting little more than horror. The sweets fell out of his loose grip.

"You're...you're H-Him!"

His trembling hands moved towards his pockets. I could feel my eyes narrow. Taking no chances, I stunned him.

"Thanks," said Terry. "I've been wanting to do that – he's an arrogant, spoilt, greedy little bugger, that one."

"Like father like son," I muttered. "Were you seen?"

"No. I promised him a way into Honeydukes in the common room and we put the cloak on then. He almost gave us away to Mrs. Norris and threatened to call the Aurors unless I let him steal some sweets. The shop was closed, you see, but it wasn't locked from the inside. What are you planning to do with him?"

"Use him as leverage," I said quietly, peering out the window.

"You think the Minister's going to fall for it?"

"I'm certain. Listen, you need to leave now, but I've got to use the Imperius Curse on you."

"Why?"

"Do you want a place in Azkaban as well?"

Terry shot me a puzzled look. "What does it matter? Isn't this what the Knights is all about? I'm all for quitting Hogwarts and doing this with you, mate."

"No, I need you at Hogwarts. There's no point in showing our hand this early. Plus, if they think I could use an Unforgivable on a friend, they'd think I'm madder than they already do. They're going to think I put you under the Imperius and told you to kidnap the kid. If worse comes to worse, the curse is in my wand's history and they'd find my magical residue on you. Even better, you'd be the victim."

"I suppose that makes sense..."

"It does. I'm just going to tell you to put on the Invisibility Cloak and go back the way you came; don't try and fight it, alright?" Terry was wringing his hands – a sure sign that he wasn't comfortable. "Here it comes, brace yourself. _Imperio!"_

The curse came surprisingly easily, almost as easy as casting a Levitation Charm, a fact that almost made me lose concentration. _Put on the Invisibility Cloak. _Terry walked forward unhesitantly and donned my beloved Cloak. As he disappeared, I gave him the second instruction: _go back to Hogwarts as you normally would if you were escaping detection._

I waited for his dull footsteps to fade away before turning to the unconscious form of Tullius Fudge. What if Fudge forced me to kill the boy? I pushed the thought from my mind – I would deal with it when the time came.

_You must create more fear and attract more attention._

Create_more_ fear? I was a supposed murderer holding the Minister's son hostage in the Shrieking Shack. If that didn't scare that bumbling fool witless, I didn't know what would.

_The Ministry has not yet arrived. The boy's disappearance has gone unnoticed. It was folly not to plan for this._

What are you suggesting I do?

_Follow my instructions. Step outside._

I glanced at the boy once more. What if the Aurors were waiting for me to go outside so they could grab the boy?

_They are not so subtle. I have helped you this far, Harry, why now do you question me?_

Because you're the fucking Dark Lord? Because you killed my parents? I felt a wave of panic run through me. What was I doing? I had just kidnapped an innocent boy! What was I doing?

_You must keep calm in these late stages. Do not let your heart overcome your mind – that is man's greatest weakness._

I had just kidnapped the Minister's son. A few months ago I was one of the top students in my year and now I was expelled from Hogwarts, on the run from the law and now on the verge of the point of no return. Why hadn't I taken Dumbledore's offer? But it's not too late. I could still say yes.

_Stay calm!_

I yelped as a searing pain, like fire, bubbled from my scar until it encompassed my entire head. The far wall of the living room was blurred and began to shudder like an earthquake. I screamed as the pain intensified. I could no longer see. There were twinkling lights, like stars, across my mind's eye. Finally, when I thought I was dying, the downpour became a drizzle and I could see again.

I was surprised to find myself on my hands and knees. I was wheezing as if I had run a marathon. I glanced to my left. Tullius still lay there, frozen and glassy-eyed. There was no way back now. The only way was forward. There would be no second chances for Harry Potter.

And Tracey. Trapped, helpless Tracey. They had taken her. They had set her up. This was for her. They had forced my hand.

_Go outside and send a signal worthy of fear and respect._

I forced myself to my feet. He was right. They had to know I was here. My vision was still blurred, but I managed to make my way out into the crisp September night.

Hogsmeade seemed dead. The air was still and silent. The stars clustered in groups – perhaps they were an audience, waiting for me to show the wizarding world what I was made of. Well, they won't be disappointed. But what signal should I send?

_Your grandfather solved that problem. Point your wand in the air with purpose. When the purpose is there, the signal will follow. The incantation is _Victum Nex.

I aimed my wand at the moon. "_Victum Nex!"_

A white mist poured out of my wand like smoke made liquid, coiling its way up towards the moon. I watched its progress, fascinated. Slowly, it began to form a shape. It was a skull. Its mouth opened and two pearly weapons I recognized as spears emerged, their tips a darker shade. The heads of the weapons positioned themselves so that they peeked out of the two dark eye sockets. The entire construction, the Mark of the Knights, glowed its eerie light like a celestial object, more superior than the moon.

_Now they will know._

Reluctantly, I turned my back on the Mark. It was imperative for the Aurors to find me in the living room, where they believed there was no exit. They would be here soon.

I was careful to weave between the broken bits of furniture on my way back to the living room. I stopped dead in my tracks as I reached the doorway; I was not alone.

Dean Thomas, sweating profusely, was muttering incantations over Tullius Fudge, apparently trying to lift my Stunning Charm to little avail. No sooner had I caught sight of him did he stare at me, teeth gritted, resolve painted across his features.

He sent a stunner at me which I flicked away lazily. Did he actually think that would do me any harm at all? "Dean Thomas," I said quietly, "you weren't invited."

"I'm invited when you get your Death Eater mates to take first years._Reducto!"_

I side-stepped the curse, and smiled. Did he actually think he stood a chance?

"The real question is whether you came because some first year you don't care about was taken, or you realised that what I said in Diagon Alley made perfect sense." Dean hesitated for a moment, a moment I took to disarm him.

"How do you explain this, then?" spat Dean. I didn't have to use Legilimency to know he was looking for a way to distract me while he got the boy out.

"The Minister took something of mine, and I want it back. This is merely an exchange."

_His grandfather was a Knight of Walpurgis. He is a Half-blood, not a Mudblood. _

"Do you recognise that symbol out there?" I said, pointing out of the window. Dean shook his head slowly. "Come now, Dean, there's no need to lie, is there? Where do you recognise it from?" I took a step towards my former classmate.

_Do not harm him; he may yet be useful ally. Recruit him._

"A ring," muttered Dean, eyes narrowed, "a ring that belong to-"

"-your grandfather."

"H-How do you know?" He was eyeing me as a hare does a hawk.

"My grandfather knew your grandfather." Dean opened his mouth but no words followed. "You're not a Mudb-" I frowned. "You're not a Muggle-born. Your father was a wizard, just like his father before him."

"That's not true," whispered Dean.

"Your mother tried to protect you," I said. The information was diffusing into my mind, and I didn't know where from. "Your father was murdered by Death Eaters."

"She wouldn't lie..."

"She had to lie. She didn't want you to know. She knew that one day you would go looking for revenge and she'd lose you too. Don't you see? But she has nothing to worry about anymore – there aren't any more Death Eaters left."

"Mad...you're mad..."

"Mad? Yes, I was mad. That's why I killed them. You see, Dean Thomas, I_am_ a murderer. I won't deny it. But I killed the wizard who killed your father."

"You killed...?"

"Yes, his name was Rabastan Lestrange. He had broken out of Azkaban earlier this year. You think _I'm_ the enemy? The real enemy is the Ministry. They couldn't even keep the man who left you fatherless in prison."

I could almost feel the mesh of emotions fighting their way in him. Shock. Disbelief. Anger. I moved towards the window and conjured a chintz armchair to appear beside a table that had been toppled over. It looked out of place, like a dandelion in a field of poppies. I took a seat and leaned back, never looking away from Dean.

"This same Ministry sent an innocent girl to prison just because she dated a schoolboy who they have now turned against. What was that school boy's crime? Ridding the world of Death Eaters. The very same Death Eaters who killed your father, Longbottom's parents, Weasley's Uncles, my parents and so many others. If it's a crime to give out the punishment the Ministry are too weak to give, then I'm guilty. Ask yourself this: would Hermione Granger befriend a Dark wizard?"

"No, I suppose not..."

Why weren't the Aurors here yet?

"Join me, Dean." Dean looked up, but now looked interested. "Renew the friendship that once existed between our ancestors. Be who you were born to be. Don't hide under a rock for the rest of your life – do something worthwhile. Join me, and they will respect you... Commander Thomas...Minister Thomas...Headmaster Thomas."

Dean glanced at Tullis Fudge. "He won't be harmed?"

"We're not Death Eaters, Dean."

Dean's expression hardened as he shuffled towards me. I extended a hand towards him, not moving from my seat. He bowed and took it, his warm hand firm and clammy.

"I don't want to be lied to anymore," he murmured.

"Then you've made the right choice. Roll up your sleeve."

Dean blanched. "Why?"

"Just do as I say. Don't you trust me?" Dean but his lip but rolled the sleeves of his Hogwarts robes up so that his thin bicep was showing. I moved my wand so that the tip was touching his brown skin. "This won't hurt. _Victum Nex!"_

The grey skull of the Knights etched itself into his skin. He winced, but otherwise remained stoic until the Mark had fully formed. It seemed to darken immediately.

"It's a transportation device," I said finally, giving Dean his wand back. "If I activate it, it will act like a Portkey, transporting you to wherever I am if I need your help. I doubt that day will ever come. _Imperio!"_

My curse, catching Dean unawares, was met with no resistance. _Firstly, pull down your sleeves. _Dean did so, hiding the Mark. _Now go into the corner and play dead. When you are questioned, you will say you followed Terry Boot and were overpowered by me._

"THIS IS THE MINISTRY OF MAGIC. WE HAVE THIS HOUSE SURROUNDED!"

I smiled. So it begins. I rose from my chair and dragged Tullius Fudge to his feet.

"COME OUT OF THE HOUSE WITH YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR HEAD!"

"_Ennervate."_

Tullius Fudge stood stock still for a second. His eyes moved from Dean, who was lying on the floor, to me, holding him by the scruff of the neck, wand digging into the boy's temple with a look far beyond fear and horror.

"YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO COME OUT OF THE HOUSE!"

"_Stasis."_ Before the boy could even begin to struggle, his body, neck down, froze in place.

"FIVE!"

"Merlin...Merlin...Mummy...M-Mummy..."

"FOUR!"

I stood completely still, ignoring the boy's gasping breaths. I wished they would hurry up.

"THREE!"

_The time has come for Harry Potter to show his worth._

"TWO!"

"D-Daddy..."

"ONE!"

I turned slightly to face the doorway.

"TIME'S UP, POTTER."

There was a rumble of footsteps. It felt like ten Aurors at least. A Hit Squad, as MacDonald had predicted. They burst into the room without breaking formation and formed a circle around Tullius and I. Credit where it was due; they did not give away their obvious fear and surprise – every wand was resolutely positioned at me.

"Welcome," I said, "but I don't value lateness."

"You are under arrest by the Ministry for Magic for two counts of murder and the assault on Law Enforcement officers," barked the tall, broad-chested Auror I recognised from the Department of Mysteries.

"Help me! Please help me!"

"As you can see," I said quietly, "you're in no position to be making demands. I would not like to be the Captain whose decisions cost the life of an innocent child, especially if that child happened to be the Minister's own son."

The Auror clenched his teeth as he glanced around the room, obviously looking for traps. "I never thought the son of James Potter would turn out to be a child-killer," he hissed.

"It came as a shock to me, too," I replied. "Now, obviously I want something, else I wouldn't be here talking to a man resorting to childish tactics. You will send one of your Aurors back to the Ministry. That Auror will bring back with him Cornelius Fudge."

"Please help me, Mr. Robards!"

"Will you help him?" I asked. "Now, the Minister alone will return here. Not even the Auror fetching him may step into the Shack. By all means gather the entire Auror department outside the Shack, Lord knows they need something to do, but only the Minister may step into the building itself. I will know if there are any concealed unwelcome visitors. Failure to comply with my demands will result in unwanted death. All it will take is two words."

Robards glanced at the boy, whose fear seemed beyond words now.

"Tonks, go get the Minister!" barked Robards. A pretty, young witch with bubble-gum pink hair nodded and disappeared on the spot, clearly activating a Portkey.

"I don't want bloodshed," I said. "I'm a peaceful man, and blood is a big expense."

The Auror's eyes flashed murderously, but he was otherwise silent. I could hear faint pops. It seemed like reinforcements had been sent for. Robards glanced out of the window. Breathing through is nose like a bull, he cast the Sonorous Charm on himself and said, "THIS IS CAPTAIN ROBARDS. DO NOT COME INTO THE SHACK IF YOU WANT TO KEEP YOUR BADGE."

I stood silently, now spinning my wand around fingers. It emitted small silver and green sparks as it span. Finally, I could hear someone's footsteps next door. So Fudge hadn't broken any of my rules...yet.

As he stepped into the living room, I noticed he was missing his lime green bowler hat. He seemed older than he did in the Daily Prophet and his grey hair was tussled.

"F-Father!"

"Hello, Minister," I said, cutting through Tullius Fudge's sobs.

Fudge stared at his son, ashen-faced. "Don't worry, Tully, Daddy'll get you out. I promise."

"I'm glad you could make it," I said.

"I'm here, Potter!" he cried. "Now let my son go, he's innocent!"

"Yes, as innocent as Tracey."

The Minister stared at me with trepidation. "Just let him go. Please let him go!"

"There is something you have taken from me, Minister, and I want it back."

"Anything...anything...just don't harm him!"

"You brought this upon yourself, Minister. When did you begin to conspire against me?"

"I did no such thing...leave my son out of this argument...please!"

"I didn't kill Theodore Davis or Zacharias Noble, you know this!"

"Be reasonable, Potter!" gasped the Minister.

"Oh, I am being reasonable. _Very_ reasonable. You felt your position as Minister weakened and used me as a scapegoat for your own failures. Tell me, Minister, how do ten Death Eaters escape high-security cells in Azkaban?"

The Minister face was like sour milk. "You are behind it! You should know!"

"Come now, Minister, I was in Hogwarts, wasn't I? How could I have helped?"

"Release my son and I'll...you'll receive a fair trial!"

I laughed at his foolishness. "We're beyond the courts now," I said quietly. "You want to help your son? I'll tell you how."

"Anything...anything..."

"Send a message to Azkaban. You will give the order to release Tracey Davis, who you've imprisoned wrongly. The Head Guard will transport her to a safe destination of her choice. I will know if it has been done."

"Impossible!" gasped Fudge. "Ask anything else! I can't...not Azkaban..."

"You will do what I say or face the consequences," I said quietly.

"You wouldn't dare...not to a child..."

I raised an eyebrow. He didn't think I'd go through with it? I flicked my wand at Tullius and said, _"Crucio!"_

Tullius' screams pierced the still air. There was shrieking in the Shack once more. The Minister had his eyes tightly shut and his fist in his mouth. His forehead was glistening with beads of sweat. Tullius continued to scream.

"ALRIGHT!" yelled Fudge. "Please! Stop it!"

"So you'll do as I say?"

"Yes!"

"You'll go to Azkaban?"

"Yes! Lift the curse!"

I raised a hand and the screaming stopped. The Minister took an involuntary step towards his son.

"Minister..."

Fudge sighed and seemed to deflate. He shot Roabrds a look, who nodded – they probably had some sort of prearranged agreement for hostage situations. The Minister began rifling through his pockets and disappeared just as the other Auror had.

It took the Minister ten minutes to return. When he did, he looked even more haggled than when he had left. We both knew he wouldn't be Minister for Magic for much longer.

"I've done what you asked! Now release him!"

I took a step towards him, dragging the boy with me, never taking my eye off the Minister. _Legilimens._ Fudge's pupils seemed to widen until the Shack was obscured and all I could see was two men in an office, Fudge standing, MacDonald sitting.

"_Potter is demanding for the release of the Davis girl. Take her to a destination of her choice."_

"_What-"_

"_Just do it now!"_

"_Yes, Minister."_

I broke concentration and smiled. So he _had_ done as I asked. "A better Minister would have avoided this situation," I said, loud enough for the other Aurors to hear. "A better man would have avoided it."

"Release him!"

I began circling the Minister, wand still trained on the boy, and could feel the Aurors tense. "You, Fudge, are a disgrace to the wizarding world. Once, the Ministry was an esteemed and revered institution. Once, it was a great honour to be accepted as a Ministry witch or wizard. But no longer. Just like the Warlocke's Council before it, it is falling into disrepute. There will be a new society of peace; ability-based, not hereditary. Soon...very soon."

"Mad," whispered Robards from behind me, "absolutely mad."

"My son! Please release him!"

"You have committed a crime, Fudge, and for that you must be punished."

"Please...not my son...not my son..."

Fudge sunk to his knees, openly sobbing now.

A Killing Curse shot at me from my right, but I saw it coming. I dived to the right and watched it hit the far wall harmlessly.

"_Crucio!"_

"Didn't I tell you to hold your fire!" roared Robards over the faint, raspy cries of Tullius Fudge.

"I beg of you..." Fudge had his hands clasped as if in prayer. Tears were streaming down his cheeks. He was utterly broken. I released the boy of the curse.

"Father..." wheezed Tullius, who seemed now beyond tears.

"Not my son...not my Tully...have mercy..."

_You know what you must do._

"You know you deserve this, Minister."

"Please...have mercy..."

_Do it now._

"Father..."

I lowered my wand so that the tip was touching his forehead.

Fudge did not look up at me. His eyes were fixed on his son.

"Minister, I must stop this!" cried Robards.

Fudge, not averting his gaze, said, "No...he must be protected at _all_ costs...hold your fire!"

_Do it._

"Father...I love you..."

My left hand went to my pocket and clasped the sock.

"I love you too, son."

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

The last I saw of the Shrieking Shack, as I felt the familiar tug at my navel, was Cornelius Fudge's lifeless body, motionless and broken, and the look of shock on his son's face, illuminated by a volley of lethal green curses heading in my direction.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	18. Home Sweet Home

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine. Furthermore, the memory of Lily's begging also belongs to Rowling.

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– **CHAPTER EIGHTEEN –**

**Home Sweet Home**

* * *

I landed in my room at Privet Drive. Fudge, the man who had caused me so many problems, was dead. The Ministry would be in uproar. I didn't care. Tracey was free; the Hufflepuff Cup was with her. If I were to believe that Riddle created six Horcruxes, it meant I only had two to find, one of which was Voldemort himself.

But I wouldn't destroy the Cup – not yet. If Dumbledore was right, then I needed both Horcruxes at hand before destroying them. On top of that, I didn't have anything to destroy it with.

Tracey, no doubt, was at Mrs. Jones' house. I had to get there before Dumbledore did. My pulse still buzzing from the murder of Fudge, I Apparated away into Mrs. Jones' hallway.

I was met by a dishevelled Mrs. Jones, who had her wand trained on me. Once she recognised me, however, she breathed a sigh of relief, hurried towards me and enveloped me in an embrace.

"Oh, Harry," she said, "you wonderful, wonderful boy." So it was confirmed, Tracey was here.

As gently as I could, I peeled her off me. "It was the least I could do," I murmured.

"How did you do it?"

"I reasoned with the Minister," I said distantly, searching the room for any sign of Tracey.

"You'll be looking for Tracey, I take it? She's upstairs."

"Yeah..." I was cut off by a creaking floorboard. I looked for the source, near the staircase. I froze. Walking slowly down the stairs, never breaking eye contact with me, was Tracey. My mouth suddenly felt very dry. From the corner of my eye, I saw Mrs. Jones leave the room. Tracey was wearing her purple robes, my favourite, and had her hair tied back. Her eyes were shining with tears.

Neither of us said a word as she descended the last few stairs. I ran a hand through my hair nervously. Finally, there was such a small distance between us that I could reach out a hand and touch her face as I used to. The extent to which I had missed her suddenly hit me. I missed the feel of her skin, the way the light hit her hair and made them shine, the way her lips felt against mine. There was an empty chasm in me that only she could fill. The cold feeling in me that Voldemort brought with him seemed to melt away.

"Harry," she said, barely above a whisper, "I'm so sorry..."

I closed the gap between us and pulled her into a deep kiss, soft at first, our lips brushing, but very soon I was pouring all my heart into it – the frustration I had felt being away from her, the passion I had felt upon learning of her incarceration, the relief I now felt knowing she was safe in my arms. The familiar feeling of warmth passed through me, as though I had swallowed a steaming mug of hot chocolate. After what seemed an age, I pulled away.

"I have something for you," she breathed.

I reluctantly tore my eyes from hers and glanced at what she was holding. It was the Hufflepuff Cup. I looked back at her as I took the cool handle of the Cup. "I missed you," I said.

"I missed you, too."

I willed the Cup to conceal itself and, duly, it shrunk and became a listless grey drinking glass made of some sort of metal. I placed it in my pocket. I looked back at Tracey but she was looking at something over my shoulder. I followed her gaze and found Mrs. Jones hurrying towards us, carrying a folded sheet of parchment.

"Dumbledore's here with Aurors," Mrs. Jones whispered, shoving the piece of parchment into my hand. "Take this, Harry." I opened my mouth to speak but she cut me off. "Now's not the time. Go, both of you." She embraced us both fleetingly. Needing no further encouragement, I took Tracey's hand and Apparated us back to Privet Drive.

"Why didn't she want Dumbledore to see us?"

I looked at Tracey, eyes narrowed slightly. "The way I got you out of Azkaban wasn't exactly legal," I said.

"What do you mean?"

I considered her for a second then told her exactly what had happened, starting from her note to me.

"You_killed_ the Minister?" She seemed startled, but not horrified.

"Yeah. Why don't you think I killed your father anymore?"

She looked away. "Because you didn't. At the start of term, Hermione spoke to me about it. While she was speaking to me, the strangest thing happened. Her eyes got wider and I could see into her mind. I saw you, Terry and Hermione talking about all sorts of things...finding Horcruxes, the Knights of Walpurgis and m-my dad. I knew then that you didn't kill him; I can't explain it, I just knew."

"You performed a really advanced piece of magic there," I said. "It's called Legilimency – not many people can do it. Occlumens can sometimes accidentally perform it, but generally, it's a rare gift."

"I've been practising Occlumency ever since...you know..." She trailed off, but didn't need to say anymore.

"So what do you think?" I said quietly.

"Of what?"

"The Knights of Walpurgis."

"I agree with everything Terry said," she said with conviction. "We should do it. Look at how the Ministry's treated us – they set us up."

"Yes," I said, unfurling the piece of parchment Mrs. Jones gave me. I recognised the handwriting immediately, and stopped listening to Tracey's rant against the Ministry. It was Dumbledore's handwriting! Though far untidier than usual, there was no doubting his unique script.

_Following the theft of Rowena Ravenclaw's Wand from the Magical History Museum in spring 1980, the only conclusion to be reached is that Lord Voldemort acquired it..._

The next few sentences I could not read – it seemed as though Dumbledore's handwriting became more illegible the more excited he became. Following the sentences I could not read, there was a series of complicated Arithmancical equations far beyond any I had encountered in class. I tried in vain to follow his thought process but it was no use. Frustrated, I skipped to the final paragraph, which read:

_The Prophecy child was to be Lord Voldemort's final monumental murder. The Prophecy child was the sacrifice for the last Horcrux, the wand. By my calculations, the Horcrux was created nonetheless and remains, to this day, at Godric's Hollow._

_APWBD 1994_

My hand almost shook with excitement. Here in my hand was the answer to finding the final piece of Voldemort's soul contained within an object. This was it. It made sense. Voldemort had tried to use my death to create his Horcrux and the wand was a valuable object inexorably tied to Hogwarts. Nobody had returned to Godric's Hollow since my parents were killed and even if they had, the wand could have hidden itself – after all, it did contain a piece of Voldemort's soul.

"Harry!"

I snapped out of my reverie and looked at Tracey. "What?"

"You haven't been listening to a word I've been saying."

I gestured towards the scrap of parchment and said, "Do you know what this is? Your mum's managed to steal some of Dumbledore's old notes. The final Horcrux is in Godric's Hollow."

Tracey visibly paled. "Godric's Hollow?"

"Yeah, what's wrong?"

"My mum grew up near Godric's Hollow. We visit my grandparents there every year."

I almost laughed. I had just begun thinking of ways to travel to the Hollow. "Come here, hold my hand." Tracey complied. I placed Dumbledore's notes on my desk. "Remember what we did at Platform Nine and Three-Quarters? Visualise the outside of your grandparent's house."

I closed my eyes and only opened them when I caught the smell of wildflower.

We stood on the slope of a steep valley. I glanced over my shoulder – a gate led to a small cottage in the hillside. None of the lights were on – the inhabitants were probably fast asleep. We were on a footpath, barely wide enough for a car, which snaked down the hill, at the bottom of which was a small settlement that took up much of the floodplain. Through the centre of the village ran a narrow, suspiciously straight, river.

"That's the River Rhymney," murmured Tracey, "and this is Rhymney Valley. The village down there is Fochriw."

We took to the path and followed it down the valley side. Other than the hooting of owls and occasional rustle of bushes either side of the path, it was deadly silent.

We were near the base of the hill with the Hollow in sight when I heard whispers. I started, before dragging Tracey with me into the darkness of the trees at the side of the path, which had now widened into a road. Tracey was ready to protest, but I raised a hand and silenced her.

As I had thought, a group of children, no older than nine, walked past. They stopped in their tracks, a small way down the path, in the wake of a blinding pair of headlights. I squinted and made out a blue Ford Fiesta stopping in their path. A tall, gangly man got out and, in a strong Welsh accent, said, "What are you doing out so damn late? Your mam's worried sick. You're gonna get a good hiding, you are. Hurry up and get in the bloody car all of you!"

"But dad!" moaned one of the children. By the light of the car, I could see that there were four children, all of whom had sandy hair. "We wanna go to the Forgotten Hollow! Billy says it's haunted!"

"Billy also says his chicken had a pup. There's no such thing as the Forgotten Hollow."

"But Nanny says it exists!" piped another of the children. "She says there was a green light one night that lit up the whole valley!"

"Your Nan likes a good story."

"I see a house!" cried a third child. "Daddy, I see it! Christ Almighty, I see it! There's a cottage and a garden and–"

"You're seeing things, dear. Remember that time you thought you flew away from a wolf?"

The car began to pull away and all I could hear was, "I see it! I see it!"

Once the car was comfortably out of sight, I stepped back onto the road, hand in hand with Tracey. "Godric's Hollow should be protected against Muggles," said Tracey. "All they see is a big cave in the hills that they call the 'Forgotten Hollow'. They think it's haunted."

We came at last to a wooden gate. Beyond it was a narrow path leading to a small cottage, covered on one side by ivy. It seemed familiar. I had been here before. I had opened the gate, wand in hand, and saw a woman with red hair playing with her baby.

This wasn't my memory, it was Voldemort's. I concentrated on the feel of Tracey's hand in mine and willed the memory away. I did not want to relive the night my parents died.

"Are you alright, Harry?" said Tracey.

"Yeah," I said, "it's just weird being here, you know?"

"I'm here with you now," she whispered.

I licked my dry lips and dragged my heavy feet along the narrow, weathered path. The closer we got, the less secure I felt. Had they left me a message somehow? Were there hidden truths in the house? I realised that they weren't perfect, but I didn't want to compromise my comforting vision of them as loving parents.

"_Lumos."_ By the narrow beam of light my wand offered, I noticed that the roof was thatched and the exterior not covered by ivy bore the black and white Tudorian pattern. I had expected either a sprawling Pure-blood manor such as Tracey's or a tall, rickety house like the Burrow. I found the modesty of it attractive; I would have enjoyed living in its two floors.

If Voldemort hadn't killed them. Looking at Godric's Hollow renewed my determination to reach my goals. I had to defeat Voldemort. I had to defeat the bureaucracy that ran the wizarding world. I could not allow other families to be torn apart as mine had been.

_The wooden door creaked open. The man, barely out of childhood, stood in the hallway, his wand raised. How he had troubled me. He could have been a reliable Death Eater of mine but instead chose death._

"_You will not harm my wife and son," he said, surprisingly calm._

_I would not waste words on him. Not this time. "_Avada Kedavra!"

"Harry!"

I drew breath and looked around, bewildered. My arm was bent and my wand raised – my usual battle pose, except Tracey's hand was wrapped around it. She was looking at me with worry.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

"Why?" I asked slowly. I dreaded finding out what I had done.

"You just shot a Killing Curse at that door!"

I glanced at the door. There was a gaping hole through its centre, as though someone had punched it.

"Tracey, it's not safe here for you. Wait for me outside."

"No," she said, "I'm staying with you. You need me now."

"It's going to get worse," I pleaded, "and there's a high chance you could be hurt."

"I don't care. I'm not deserting you – not again. Where would the Horcrux be?"

"Upstairs, in my room." At least Voldemort was good for something.

We walked to the stairs, with Tracey clutching my arm.

_I stepped over Potter's body. Trust, the most traitorous trait in man, had been his undoing. There was one more murder to perform – the murder that would ruin Dumbledore and all the Mudbloods who hid in his wake._

"Stay with me, Harry."

I looked over my shoulder – there was no dead body. Why couldn't I concentrate? Why couldn't I repel the visions?

"It's only going to get worse," I rasped.

We were on the first floor landing. The door to our immediate right had 'Harry' arranged on it with brightly coloured plastic letters. Tracey tentatively pushed the door open.

_The girl had put herself between her and the baby. As if that would stop me. She did not even have a wand._

"_Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"_

I could feel Tracey's hands on my face, but the feeling was fading. I could not hear the words she was saying

"_Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now..."_

"_Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me, instead–"_

"_This is my last warning-"_

"_Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy...Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything–"_

"_Stand aside – stand aside, girl. _Avada-_"_

I was silenced as a pair of lips met mine. I lowered my wand and opened my eyes. "Thanks, Tracey," I muttered when she pulled away.

My room was made up of a cot, a wardrobe and a pile of soft toys. Wisps of moonlight filtered through the window and offered a spectacular view of the countryside. I could almost feel the intense magic that had torn apart my family. We combed through the room but no luck – there was no sign of the wand.

"Let's check another room," said Tracey, "I don't like the feeling of this one."

The next door along revealed a small study. Quidditch posters filled every inch of the walls, most bearing the 'Tutshill Tornadoes' emblem. A single shelf had managed to squeeze itself between the posters and was littered with medals and trophies. As I looked closer, I noticed that some were for Quidditch achievements, some Auror achievements and some were old pieces of Tornadoes memorabilia. My eyes lingered on the Head Boy's badge that lay in the wake of the Quidditch Cup of 1977.

I looked at the table underneath the shelf. In one corner of it was a black box. I opened it and found a finely made silver ring with an emerald set in it. A note fell out that read:

_For my dear Emerald,_

_Our second anniversary already! I tried to find a ring to match your splendour but only found this trinket that seems ghastly in the wake of your beauty._

_Your ever-loving husband._

Tracey, who was reading over my shoulder, took a sharp intake of breath and tightened her grip on my hand. If I looked at her, I knew I would find her to be moved to tears. But I couldn't tear my eyes away from the desk. I placed the box and its contents in my pocket.

My gaze moved towards the piece of parchment that lay precariously atop of a pile of papers. I picked it up and blew, so that the layer of dust that had accumulated was sent flying and the scrawled writing was now barely legible:

_Professor Dumbledore,_

_I mean no offense, sir, but I find the notion of Voldemort finding us almost laughable. Lily and I greatly appreciated your offer to become our Secret Keeper but we have utmost faith in Sirius; I'd lay my life down for him as he would for me._

_Harry's doing great. He said his first words yesterday and I'm afraid to say it was 'mama'. Oh well, there's always the next kid. _

_I know you think Harry will be the You-Know-What but I disagree. It's far more likely for Voldemort to choose Longbottom – after all, he's a Pure-blood. That could just be wistful thinking, though. Merlin, I didn't know I could love anyone as much as I do little Harry, I tell you._

_We're hoping the Fidelius will be lifted soon – it's been such a strain on our lives. I fear for the effect this seclusion will have on Harry's social abilities. Someone's tripped the wards – it's probably Sirius, so I'll wrap up._

_Yours,_

_James_

I sighed wistfully. Dumbledore never got his letter.

"Your father must have been a great man," said Tracey quietly.

"Yeah," I said, "he must have been -"

_I was in my old bedroom once more. A girl, no older than eleven, with flaming red hair, bent down to her knees mechanically, with a sense of purpose. Her hand slipped under the cot and returned with a long wand of mahogany. She turned, wand in hand, and left the room without a backward glance._

"Harry!" I snapped out of my reverie and found myself in Tracey's grip. "You're really pale. What did you see?"

"Ginny Weasley," I said. "It was Ginny Weasley... Of course..."

It made sense now. Tom Riddle had used Ginny Weasley to move Ravenclaw's Wand. If he used Weasley, that meant the Wand was in the Chamber of Secrets. There was no other place he would have hidden it. Tom would not have thought any other possessed the ability to open the Chamber. It was the perfect hiding place.

But how would I get into the Chamber without Dumbledore noticing? As soon as I stepped foot in the castle, the portraits would inform him of my presence. What I needed was a distraction...

"Tracey," I said, "I need to speak to Dean, but in order to do that, I need to summon him. Would you mind if-"

Tracey extended her arm and rolled up her sleeve. "I thought you were never going to ask," she said, smiling.

"Are you sure about this?"

"Surer than I've ever been. I don't doubt you, not anymore. I believe in what you're trying to do."

I moved my wand so that the tip was touching her pale skin. "_Victum Nex!"_

The grey skull of the Knights etched itself into her skin. Like Dean before her, she winced, but otherwise remained stoic until the Mark had fully formed. When it did, I touched it, causing it to turn black as her hair.

Almost instantly, Dean appeared beside us. He was dressed in light blue pyjamas and seemed distinctly dishevelled. His scowl disappeared when he caught sight of me. "Harry! What's going on?" He pointedly ignored Tracey.

"I need you to help me with something. Can you do that?"

Dean looked around a little uneasily. "It depends what it is; I'll see what I can do."

"There's something in Hogwarts I need, something of the utmost importance for our cause. As you know, I can't be seen in Hogwarts. Can you create a distraction for me? It has to be something big enough to draw in Dumbledore's attention."

"Why don't I just get it for you?"

"It's in a part of the castle you can't get to. Get Terry and Hermione to help you if you can. I need the distraction created within the next half hour at the most."

Dean nodded briskly. "That I can do. How do I get back?"

"Touch the Mark."

As Dean disappeared, I noticed that Tracey was torn between bewilderment and bemusement. "Six months ago he thought you were a Dark Lord. Now he's acting like your House Elf."

"I can be persuasive when I want to be," I said, smiling slightly. "Come on, we've got to get back."

We walked back out of Godric's Hollow. When I had shut the gate behind us, I took Tracey's hand and Apparated to the Privet Drive.

"Are you really going back to Hogwarts?" asked Tracey as soon as we arrived.

"I have no choice. Voldemort thought he had found the perfect hiding place and his gamble didn't pay off. We're nearly at the end of all this, Tracey."

"How can you be sure that Dumbledore won't be find you?"

"I can't, but I'm willing to take a few calculated risks."

Tracey sighed as I lay my father's black box on my own desk. "Starting to be the bloody Gryffindor, aren't you? When are we going, then?"

I looked over my shoulder at her. "We? No, there's no _we_ this time. This time I go alone."

"Don't be silly," said Tracey, "there has to be someone there to make sure you don't hurt yourself."

"I'll manage this time," I said a little coldly, "and anyway, you have far more important things to do."

"Oh, really?" she said sarcastically.

"Yes, I need you to draw Dumbledore from his lair."

"How on earth-"

"Simple: you go back to your mother's house. You convince her to call Dumbledore; he'll arrive as soon as he can." Tracey stared at me as if I had lost my mind. "Don't worry, he won't hand you in to the Ministry; that's not Dumbledore's way. You need to stall for time as long as possible and try and maintain your Occlumency. Eventually, he'll find out where I'm going, but by then, I'll be in the Chamber and he'll have no way in."

"Harry-"

"Just do as I say!" I took a breath. "If I need your help, I'll call you via the Mark. I promise."

"You're lucky I love you," she said, shoulders sagging in defeat.

"I love you, too."

I picked up a dirty pillowcase that lay strewn on the floor and turned it into a Portkey. Tracey and I shared one last tender kiss before she disappeared as Dean had done. I looked around my bedroom at Privet Drive then Apparated away once more.

* * *

_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	19. Into The Labyrinth

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine.

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– **CHAPTER NINETEEN –**

**Into The Labyrinth**

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No sooner had I Apparated in front of Hogsmeade did I feel an Auror approaching somewhere over my shoulder.

"State your name and business!"

I turned around. As the Auror's eyebrows shot up, I muttered,_"Imperio! Obliviate!"_

His will was as thin and weak as his shoulders and I overcame him easily, at the same time wiping his memory of my appearance in Hogsmeade. I noticed that a nearby patrolling Auror, probably this one's partner, was now looking over curiously. I used the shadow created by the moonlight to hide my face from him and muttered, "go and tell your partner that I'm the nephew of the Honeyduke's manager."

As the Auror went over to his partner, I used the distraction to elongate my nose, lengthen my hair so that it was shoulder-length and turn my eyes brown. The sharp pain in my nose told me that all three had been done. I glanced in the gleaming window of Honeyduke's – I looked more like Snape than myself. I shuddered at the thought. Finally, I removed the Imperius Curse – they knew I was prone to using it, and a talented wizard might spot it.

I noticed the thin Auror stop in mid-sentence, looking confused. His broad-shouldered counterpart shot him a quizzical look then said something. After a moment, they seemed to come to some sort of agreement and came over. The thin Auror spoke first.

"So you're Parson's nephew?"

"Yes," I said, "I only need to go to the cellar and fetch my Uncle something."

I looked at him dead in the eye and willed the security measures over Honeydukes to reveal themselves to me, a course of action that took surprisingly little effort. A team of ten Aurors were set the task of patrolling Hogsmeade, I discovered, in case I returned; five in the day, five at night. A Caterwauling Charm had been implemented and had drawn the thin Auror to me initially. Every shop was alarmed after closing hours and only the Aurors on patrol could negate them.

"Do you have any form of identification, sir?"

"I'm afraid I don't. My parents went into hiding after H-He killed my grandfather. I-I moved in with my Uncle in a rush and left most of my stuff behind."

The thin Auror looked at me with pity. "Noble was your grandpa, then?"

I tried to look as dejected as I could manage. "Yeah. H-He used to come around every week..."

The broad-shouldered Auror grimaced and lay a hand on my shoulder. "I'm afraid I was there in Knockturn Alley the night that monster killed him. And to think...I used to think he was such a good 'un."

"Power corrupts," said the thin Auror.

"Aye, but he had good blood in him, that boy. I never thought I'd see the day when we were prowling around Hogsmeade on the lookout for a Potter. But then again, I said the same thing about Black."

"If I ever see him," I said, "I'm going to rip him limb from limb for what he did."

"You be a good lad and leave that to the Dementors," said the thin Auror.

I pulled back my sleeve and looked at my watch. "If it's alright with you," I said, "can I get into the shop?"

The two Aurors shared a look. The larger Auror nodded almost imperceptibly. While the thin Auror began prodding specific bricks with his wand, the larger Auror said, "this isn't the first time the Caterwauling Charm's been set off tonight."

"Really?"

"Yeah," said the Auror, a little pompously, "the Headmaster set it off. He flew down here, quick as if he was only thirty, and Apparated before we could even greet him. He must've had important Ministry business; he usually talks to me about Transfiguration Today."

He looked as me, as if expecting me to gasp in wonderment. I smiled weakly. So Dumbledore had taken the bait.

"That should do it."

The thin Auror tested the door and, satisfied that no harm had been done, held it open for me. He smiled at me as an uncle would his favourite nephew. "Go on in. Be sure you don't take longer than ten minutes or we'll come down there and confiscate whatever chocolate you try and stuff into your robe pockets."

I laughed meekly and entered the shop. So I had ten minutes to get into the Chamber before the Aurors raised the alarms. Once I was in the Chamber itself, however, it did not matter who knew I was in there. There were only two living Parselmouths, and I hardly expected Voldemort to suddenly sprout a body and help out the Ministry.

When I was safely down the cellar and into the secret tunnel bound for Hogwarts, I broke into a run. I knew that most Prefects and Professors would have gone to sleep by now, and any who were still awake had hopefully been suitably distracted by Dean.

I burst into the corridor that the tunnel led into. It felt strange being back at Hogwarts and I found that I had missed it. It was the only place I could call home. But I could not linger – I had to make my way to the first floor toilet. Quickly as I could manage, I careered down the stairs at the end of the corridor. All around me, portraits were gasping and pointing. Was my glamour wearing off?

I had no time to check. I stopped abruptly in front of a piece of wall I knew to be a door. I wheezed, "could...you...show...me...the...stairway...leading...to...the...first...floor?"

A door materialised from nowhere. I pushed it open with such force that it ricocheted off the wall. Though my body begged me not to, I began sprinting down the stairs two at a time. My throat felt like it was narrowing and my lungs were screaming with pain, but still I pressed on. On the final flight of stairs, I leaped from the fourth step to the landing and bulldozered the door open.

The door to the girl's toilet was directly ahead of me. Without looking either side of me, I jogged the final distance, my heart thudding like a dull drum roll.

As I entered the girl's toilet on the first floor, I found the marble floor flooded. I could not even muster the energy to roll my eyes and instead hobbled over to the tap that hid the entrance to the Chamber.

"Come back to laugh at me some more?" said Moaning Myrtle, who had just emerged from a toilet cubicle. "Oh, who are you?"

"Erm..."

"Oh, I remember!" she squeaked. "You used to come here and brew that potion! You look...different."

"That's because I'm older now." To my alarm, Myrtle's eyes began to fill up with pearly white tears.

"Oh, yeah, poor old Myrtle _can't_ get older, can she? I have to stay the same ugly, spotty girl with horrible glasses. Come to rub it in my face, have you? You're no different to the others!"

"What others?" I asked sharply. But it was too late. The ghost emitted a cry of anguish and leapt headfirst into the toilet seat, causing a fresh wave of water to scour the bathroom.

I scowled at the hem of my robes and shoes, which were now soaking wet. Casting a drying charm lazily, I examined the tap and found the tiny snake scratched on the side of one of the copper taps.

"_Open up,"_ I hissed, imagining the snake was alive. The sink sank out of sight and revealed a large pipe, just large enough for me to slide down.

The familiar rush of sliding down an almost vertical drop embraced me as I released my grip on the edge of the pipe. It was surprisingly thrilling twisting and turning deep underground, and I was rather disappointed when I landed on the damp floor of the tunnel.

I lit my wand, illuminating my immediate surroundings only. Even in the wand light, I could not make out anything more than a stone's throw away, so thick was the darkness.

I strode forward with purpose, frail animal bones disintegrating under my footfall. The tunnel bent ahead of me, and I tried not to think about what new obstacles Voldemort had constructed.

The tunnel turned and turned and turned and seemed to go on forever. As I began to wander whether this was an illusion of Voldemort's, like on the way to Slytherin's ring, a solid wall seemed to materialise out of the darkness as I crept around yet another bend. Flashbacks suddenly danced across my mind's eye as I saw two entwined serpents carved on the wall, their eyes set with great, glinting emeralds.

"_Open,"_ I hissed. The serpents' heads rose in unison but the wall did not part. I felt my body tense and tightened the grip on my wand. Was it possible that I had spoken in English?

I really concentrated on the snakes and their emerald eyes flickered as if alive. _"Open,"_ I said in a stronger, more commanding hiss.

One of the snakes shook its head and I stood in bewilderment. How could someone have possibly tampered with the snakes? Had Dumbledore somehow managed to imitate Parseltongue and come down here? As I began to anger, the other snake opened its mouth and hissed:

"_What always runs but never walks_

_Often murmurs, never talks_

_Has a bed but never sleeps_

_Has a mouth but never eats?"_

A riddle? Why had I not been faced with one in second year? Had the Weasley girl cleared them for me? Was this Riddle's idea of a joke? I could imagine him, as a sixteen year old, living up to his surname when bored. Luckily, this particular riddle was simple enough. _"A river,"_ I hissed.

The serpents parted as the wall cracked open and the halves slid smoothly out of sight and I, gripping my wand so hard my knuckles were white, walked inside.

I was standing in a familiar dimly lit chamber with towering stone pillars entwined with carved serpents rising to support the high ceiling. The air was rank with the stench of rotting flesh.

As I meandered around the columns, the putrid smell became too powerful – it seemed to be squeezing my stomach, hoping for me to vomit. I raised my wand to my head and performed the Bubble-Head Charm. I could breathe once more.

Finally, I brushed past the last pair of pillars and the gargantuan grey statue of Salazar Slytherin stood against the back wall and loomed menacingly over me. At its feet lay the skeleton of the Basilisk, its dried blood draped underneath it like a carpet.

Suddenly, something Hermione had discovered came to the forefront of my mind:

"_Destroying a Horcrux needs some powerful magic – far beyond what a wizard's wand can accomplish."_

Dumbledore had used a Basilisk's tooth! So did I, all those years ago. I rummaged around my deep robe pocket and found the tiny Hufflepuff Cup. As if it needed air to grow in, it became larger and larger, and its gold colour returned. In a manner of seconds, the entire cup was restored in all its beauty. I edged towards the head of the snake, hoping that the teeth hadn't been pillaged by Dumbledore.

Thankfully, there was a long fang left on the floor where the head would have been. I picked it up, avoiding the dark green substance at its tip. I placed the Cup on the floor and raised my hand.

Dumbledore's words came back to me. What if Riddle took me over? What if I was jeopardising my entire quest to rid the world of Voldemort? But at the same time, I was quite sure that I could suppress Voldemort if he did try and take me over. Had I not done so well this far?

I expected to meet some resistance from the Cup. I expected to be repelled. I expected...something.

Instead, the fang sunk into the cup, which emitted a low, foul hiss. It crumpled, like an aluminium can, until it was a craggy ball of gold. Finally, it burst into a flame and all that remained as an ooze of gold amongst the red.

The familiar thudding roared at my temples. I closed my eyes and rubbed them, hoping it would soothe the bubbling pain. Dumbledore said Riddle would take me over entirely. I couldn't let that happen. Not now. Not when I was so close.

I tore my gaze from the remains of the basilisk, and looked back up at the statue of Slytherin. I could see no visible passage into the depths of the chamber. Then again, I could see very little now that my vision was so cloudy. I took another tentative step forward. Somehow I knew what I had to do.

"_Open,"_ I hissed, loud as I could manage. I craned my neck to look at the ancient, monkey-like face of the founder's statue. I could have sworn I saw sign of life in the statue's sunken grey eyes. The lips parted slightly, and I thought it might reveal a large opening for me to pass through. I was wrong, however. Instead, there was hissing:

"_Glittering points_

_That downward thrust,_

_Sparkling spears_

_That never rust."_

I sighed; this one I did not know. I couldn't think straight. I could hardly see straight. I looked around the hall for inspiration and received nothing but the blank stares of glittering rubies. I wondered if Voldemort knew, but, surprisingly, he seemed determined to keep as silent as he had been since I murdered Fudge. I asked for the riddle once more.

My initial thought was that it was an ancient weapon of some sort. I vaguely remembered a computer game Dudley used to play in which arrows were fired out of walls at an unfortunate red animal which seemed uncompromisingly happy despite being harmed in every way imaginable. So it can't be arrows, because they can rust. I needed to think outside the box.

"_May I have a clue?"_ I asked. The only answer I received was my own echo rebounding off Slytherin's feet, which were the size of large sheds.

A small drop of murky water just missed me and landed at my own feet. Could it be rain? No, that can't be a 'sparkling spear'Hail? No, that wasn't a 'glittering point'. I began to get a little frustrated at my lack of progress and Voldemort's silence. A freezing cold sensation embraced the top of my head as a drop of the murky water finally hit me. Angrily, I directed my lit wand towards the high ceiling.

The wandlight illuminated a stalagmite – or was it a stalactite? And suddenly it hit me – it was so simple!

"_Icicle."_

To my delight, the mouth of the statue opened wider and wider until even the king of snakes could comfortably slide through. My headache seemed to be subsiding, too.

I cast a Sticking Charm on my hands and feet. Grimly, I climbed up Slytherin's sweeping beard. Higher and higher I rose until the stone feet below me looked almost normal in size. Finally, I hoisted myself up into Slytherin's open mouth. Tapping my hands, feet and head removed both the Sticking Charm and the Bubble-Head Charm. I took a gulp of stale, thick air. At least the rotting Basilisk's stench had been diluted.

As I relit my wand; two paths, one leading right, the other left, were stretched out ahead of me. I pondered for a moment over which to take. I was quite sure that going left would lead to the school so I took the route to the right.

The tunnel leading onwards was very much like the one leading into the main chamber. There were old snake skins and animal remains scattered across the floor, and the darkness seemed omnipotent. By the wandlight, another wall adorned with two snake carvings, much like the one in the previous tunnel, was illuminated.

"_Tell me the riddle,"_ I hissed. One of the snake's head rose and the jewel in its eye glittered. Its mouth opened and it hissed:

"_Until I am measured,_

_I am not known,_

_Yet how you miss me,_

_When I have flown."_

I sighed. I was beginning to tire of answering riddles I didn't know the answer to. I racked my brain but nothing, not even the tiniest inkling, emerged. I was at a complete loss with this riddle. The more I thought, the further away the answer seemed to be.

"_I think I'll go and check out the other path,"_ I muttered, "_this is a waste of time."_

As I turned my back, I heard a rumbling sound. I swivelled around, wand ready to defend myself. To my great surprise, the two halves of the wall were peeling themselves apart from each other.

"It must have been time... Yeah, time flies, of course."

Rather pleased with my luck, I journeyed on down the winding tunnel, but soon let out an angry snarl as yet another wall came into view. Once again, the snakes, jewel-encrusted eyes glittering, hissed a riddle:

"_I know of a word of letters three,_

_Add two and fewer there will be."_

I breathed a sigh of relief. _"Too easy; fewer."_ The wall moved apart to reveal yet another wall. The effects of the tunnel were beginning to wear away my energy and patience. Maybe it was the intoxicating stench of death and decay, but I was getting agitated and hot.

Relentlessly, the carved snake hissed yet another riddle:

"_Greater than Merlin,_

_More evil than the devil,_

_The poor have it,_

_The rich need it,_

_And death befalls its consumer."_

"_Nothing,"_ I hissed, becoming silently hopeful that the riddles were becoming easier and easier. The walls parted to reveal a small door of solid gold with a frame of ornately carved snakes.

I tried to push the door but it would not budge. There were no cracks for me to work on. I tapped the wall and tried every charm of opening I knew.

"_How the hell do you open this thing?"_ I muttered angrily. As if to answer my question, words in a cursive script began to etch themselves into the door. I peered closely and read:

"_The blood through thy veins,_

_Oh heir of mine,_

_Wilt grant thee access_

_To knowledge divine."_

"So crude," I muttered. I looked down at my forearm. Terry had once said that all the Pureblood families were related. Could it be that any distant relation could try? I would not lose anything by experimenting, except blood.

I conjured a silver knife, hoping that there were no consequences of failing to provide the right blood. Grimacing, I made a small cut in my forearm. I tried to ignore the stinging pain and placed the wound onto the door, under the writing.

Both blood and writing disappeared and word replaced them:

"_Enter."_

Immensely relieved, I sealed my wound as the door opened. I stepped into a small study which, compared to the rest of the chamber, seemed far too normal. Granted, the desk legs were blanketed by intertwined snakes, as were the large candle brackets and the shelves. But there was something about the room that made it seem oddly comfortable – I could see myself living in it.

The room began to spin and blur. I looked at my hands. They were long, thin and pale. My feet began to move without my order for them to do so. It was like my early dreams of Riddle...but I wasn't asleep.

The office looked perceptibly different. It looked far less habitable. There were gargantuan cobwebs between the shelves and I could hear the cries of scared rats. I flicked my wand at one and muttered,_"Avada Kedavra."_

The room fell deathly silent.

I loomed over the desk and open the bottom drawer. The only object inside was a large, tattered book. Its colour had faded, but a snake of solid silver coiled into the shape of an 's' had stood the test of time and was imprinted in the centre of the front cover.

With practised calm, I picked up the quill that lay on the edge of the table and dipped it in some ink. I then opened the book at a very precise page. In the same cursive script that had appeared on the door, the words _Tom Marvolo Riddle_ headed the gnarled page.

_Speak to me Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts four_, I wrote. The words sunk into the page. A pause. Then, in dark green ink and a cursive font:

_Tom Riddle. You have thought about my words of advice?_

_Yes. I cannot rebuke the words of a great man such as yourself._

_Then what shall you do with these...friends...of yours?_

_I believe that there is some merit in their aspirations. _

_What aspirations are these?_

_We shall perform the greatest of feats, sir. We will conquer death itself and lead the wizarding world into a new age of glory, and they will worship me. And those who shunned me...how they will suffer..._

_Conquer death? Those are high aspiration, my heir, but nothing is impossible with an uncensored knowledge of magic at hand. So you wish to punish those who claim to have my best intentions at heart?_

_Yes, sir. _

_And you wish to usurp authority with the view to cement a place in history?_

_Yes, sir._

_These friends, my heir, will not help you. No matter how true they seem, they will betray you. The only person one can trust is oneself, and no other. _

_What do you suggest, sir?_

_Focus on your goals independent of all others. These...Purebloods...must be punished in ways more subtle. You are my heir and as such wield great power – use it. These children will look for a cause to rally around; they wish to surpass their station. Become that cause; allow them to rally around you. Promise them what you will, ensnare them. As time passes, you will command great authority over them and can degrade them, torture them and pick them off one by one._

_I bow to your expertise in these matters, sir. What of the Knights of Walpurgis?_

_Do the same._

_Forgive me, sir, but the Pureblood Slytherins are wary of the Knights, who in turn are wary of the Purebloods. _

_I am sure the situation will...resolve itself._

_Thank you, sir. I am expected to give a speech presently._

_Go gently, my heir._

I closed the book and rose, intent on leaving the room.

Wait, where was I going? I don't have a speech to give. I didn't actually communicate with Slytherin. My name isn't Tom Riddle.

I tried to lift my hand and was met with some resistance.It was as though the air had liquefied and I was pushing my hand through a watery substance. A chill ran down my spine. Dumbledore was right. Voldemort was taking over.

But I would not let him. I could not let him. He had betrayed me. He had betrayed my grandfather. He had betrayed Moody. He had betrayed everyone. He wasn't trying to help me. He was against me from the start.

I tried to move my hand to the bottom draw of the desk, but it would not move there. It was as though a pane of glass stood in my way. No! I tried to think of Tracey, as I had done in Godric's Hollow, but it was of no use. All I could see was a vague outline, a silhouette, that was being swallowed by the encroaching darkness. I tried to think of my parents, of Godric's Hollow, but they too were a blur.

Parents? My mother was a near-Squib, destined to die giving birth to me. My father was a filthy coward, but I had exacted my revenge.

I had finally taken Potter's body. The boy was fool enough to ignore Dumbledore and destroy my Horcrux. His ignorance is my salvation.

But now, now I had to retrieve the Wand, my precious Horcrux. I could not let Dumbledore find it, not now that Potter had compromised its location.

I went to the shelf and picked out 'Most Potente Potions'. I prised it open and found the Wand, long and mahogany, resting in the hollow I had created in the book. I readied myself for the Portkey. How I hated the sickening feeling of being thrown through the air, not in control of my own movements. But this was necessary. Thomas would be waiting.

I reached out and wrapped my pale hand around the Wand. I felt the familiar, sickening tug at my navel. I landed on my hands and knees, wand still at hand. I rose to my feet quickly. I could not underestimate Dumbledore, not this time.

I cast my eye over the door that lay ahead of me. The door to the so-called Labyrinth. What a fool Potter was. Though his susceptibility to my plan was more concerned with its genius than his folly.

I prised open the door and found myself in a domed tunnel, surrounded with the glow of silver. I could see my reflection in the walls – the same black hair and pale skin as my youth. If not for the glasses, it may have been me, not Potter.

I walked briskly down the corridor, thinking of what a thorn Potter had been. He was surprisingly resilient to my efforts to take him over. I should have been able to defeat his weak mind after Dumbledore desecrated my locket. But no matter. In the end, he was no different to the other nameless, faceless wizards who tried to resist me. They all broke eventually.

The corridor split in two. Hardly considering it, I turned right. Turning left would lead to the fire room. I quickened my pace – Thomas was rash and I required his potion. Only then could I rid myself of Potter's cumbersome thoughts completely.

I came to another door. I knew that behind it lay my greatest fear. I readied myself then opened it.

I was in a vast field with row upon row of graves. A spectral light shone down from above and illuminated one grave in particular, no different in size from the others. I slowed as I approached it and read the first line of the gravestone:

_Tom Marvolo Riddle_

I gritted my teeth and tore my eyes from it. Death was a fate awaiting lesser men than I. I smiled – my construct was far more frightening than any Boggart. Potter would have been defeated by the Labyrinth had he attempted to pass to the centre.

"_Lumos,"_ I muttered, for this room required light to defeat the darkness of the mind. The graveyard faded and was replaced with the domed, silvery corridor.

After I drink the potion, Thomas would need to be dealt with. He possessed too many secrets of mine now. It was quite unnecessary to keep him alive. After Thomas, Dumbledore would be next. He would not suspect the boy of his murder. How fitting that love should be his undoing.

And without Dumbledore, there will no longer be a resistance. Perhaps I could even succeed him as Headmaster? It would not be difficult to age Potter's body and create a new identity for him. Yes, with no Dumbledore, I will be free to do as I wish without opposition.

The wizarding world will succumb to hysteria – the deaths of Fudge and Dumbledore in quick succession guarantee this. I will exploit their unrest and offer them my vision. I could be the last Minister for Magic if I so wished.

The corridor split, this time in three. I knew that the route to the right led to the never-ending corridor and the left housed that dragon Thomas had imported. Labyrinth indeed.

I could feel Potter resisting once more. I closed my eyes and constructed an intricate web of Occlumency to trap the boy with. I could not show any sign of weakness in the next room, which I knew to be the centre. It would not do to have Thomas find me in anything but the most composed of moods.

I could feel Potter's resistance against my masterfully constructed web. Did he not know it was futile? His body belonged to me now.

Suddenly, I felt something I had not done since Halloween 1980 – pain, and it came from his disgusting scar. Why was I feeling this pain? What was Potter doing? I sifted through the tangle of memories that cluttered his mind searching for the source of the pain. I noticed a memory, sharper than those surrounding it, and willed it to show itself to me.

As it came to the forefront of my mind, I readied the Widow's Web, that effective destroyer of memories. I had developed the technique myself and knew it would not fail me.

The memory materialised far quicker than I had anticipated. Potter was with the Davis girl, in a small bedroom of some sort.

"_You're lucky I love you."_

"_I love you, too."_

The pain was intense now; I wrapped my hand around my forehead. There was a delirious light that I could not overcome. I could no longer see. My concentration was rocked. I could not maintain control much longer...

Harry. I'm Harry. Not Tom, not Voldemort, Harry. I wrenched my hand from my forehead and, to my relief and delight, it complied. I was in charge once more. I willed my eyes to open.

My hands and knees were on a cold floor so polished, I could see myself in it. I rose to my feet. So this was the Labyrinth that Tom, Max and Moody had built. But why had Voldemort called it the 'so-called Labyrinth'? Perhaps he had disowned it?

I had the Wand! It was here in my hand. I was so close to the end. But what lay at the centre of the Labyrinth? What secrets did Tom have to hide? Perhaps his final, most precious shard of soul was hidden there. It would explain why he had gone to such pains hiding the history of the Knights from the world. He knew that if someone knew about the Knights, one day, it would lead them here. But he did not bank on me knowing.

The mild headache in my scar was fading now. I approached what Voldemort had unwittingly revealed to be the final door. Ravenclaw's Wand was in my left hand, my own phoenix-feather wand was in my right.

I braced myself. At last I would have my questions answered. Finally, I would get to the heart of what my grandfather was trying to achieve. The truth lay beyond the door, of that I was certain. Better still, the end of my struggle with Voldemort was within arm's reach.

I steeled myself and took a sharp breath.

I kicked open the final door.

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_Please spare a moment to drop a review, leaving your thoughts and OWL rating for this chapter. I'm a miserly author and your comments are my daily bread. Thank you._

**To Be Continued…**


	20. What Lies Beneath

**Disclaimer:** The world that I'm mutilating belongs to Ms. Rowling. While most of the characters are hers, the plot is mine. I do not attempt to make any profit from this consuming hobby of mine.

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to Apocalypso-33, without whom these words that now appear on your screen would not exist.

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– **CHAPTER TWENTY –**

**What Lies Beneath**

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"_Expelliarmus!"_

In my surprise, my wand and Ravenclaw's Wand flew out of my hands and into the grasp of a man. He looked familiar - an exceptionally unexceptional man, tall black with cropped hair, cold dark eyes and a smattering of stubble covering his chin. He wore a sleeveless black shirt and a pair of faded jeans. My attention, however, was drawn towards one of his only distinctive features – the Mark on his muscled bicep. There was the faintest trace of a smile playing at his lips.

"Harry Potter," he said quietly, almost to himself, "the Boy Who Lived."

I glanced around, looking for a way out, a weakness of some form. The room, no bigger than my dorm, was domed and silver, the walls themselves emanating a faint light. There was no escape. No doors, no windows, no fireplace, no objects to turn into Portkeys. There was no escape.

"You look very much like your father, Harry Potter–"

"But I have my mother's eyes," I said, betraying no emotion. I could not let him know I did not anticipate this. Who had given him the Mark?

"And her temperament, it seems; James would have been cursing by now. I wonder if you remember me..." He pointed to a scar that ran from his temple to his chin. It was though someone had tried to cleave his face in half. "So my Memory Charm _did_ work. Curious..."

I tried to remember. There was no way his Memory Charm would have been anywhere near effective enough to hide from me. I flitted through memory after memory, searching for the right one.

"You were due to start your Third Year, I believe."

He twirled Ravenclaw's Wand lazily between his fingers gazed at me almost encouragingly. I concentrated on remembering. I came across a memory that was hazy, the sign of a poorly cast Memory Charm. I focussed my Occlumency on clearing the blocked memory. After encouragement from a tendril of magic, the memory became as clear as the others.

"Special Agent Arnold Smith," I muttered. "Which makes your real name...?"

"_Very_ good, I would have expected no worse from James' son."

"You killed my godfather." My headache worsened, it threatened to completely cloud my vision. Perhaps it was the anger that began to course through me. I cupped my forehead and bit my bottom lip. Smith, or whatever his name was, was saying something, but I could not make it out. All I could hear was the pounding of my ears and the sharp, all-encompassing pain in my head.

I wanted to collapse to my knees but my body refused to comply. I wanted to keep my hand on my forehead, but it moved itself away.

No! Not again!

I tried with all my might to regain control but it was no use. All I could see was a pair of lidless red eyes piercing through the darkness.

"Do not kill the boy," I said, my voice higher and colder than usual.

"Your attempts to emulate my Lord are pitiful, Potter."

"I _am_ your Lord, you blithering fool. I order you to return the boy's wand to me. What are you doing? Lower your wand!"

"_Avada Kedavra!"_

I screamed. It was as though my bones were on fire and my organs were being torn in two. I could taste blood in my mouth. The red eyes were fading into the darkness. This was it. I was dying. I had failed. I was so close...so close to winning.

And with that, the red eyes were gone.

I could feel some light on my face. Was I in heaven? I opened my eyes a fraction. I was in the same room...the centre of the Labyrinth. The last Death Eater was looming over me, possibly checking whether I was dead or not. His head was turned away from me. His right bicep was within arm's reach. All I had to do was reach out and touch the Mark, and Tracey and Dean would arrive. They'd distract him while I got my wand.

As I lifted my hand, he turned around. But he was too late. Before he could react, my finger was on his cold arm. The grey turned to charcoal. His eyes met mine. I smiled.

"Impossible..."

I compose myself then rolled to my right. My body complied. I felt like laughing. I was in charge of my body. Me. No other. I spotted my wand from the corner of my eye and leaped towards it. As my hand wrapped around it, a warm sensation ran up my arm and through my body.

"Harry!"

I jumped to my feet and looked around. My heart sunk. The Death Eater held Tracey, Ravenclaw's Wand trained at her temple.

"_Silencio!_You may be immune to the killing curse," he breathed, eyes bulging madly, "but I bet _she_ isn't."

I glanced at Tracey, who was thrashing around so wildly that the Death Eater was forced to put her into a body bind. I could feel my teeth clenching with anger.

"If you touch her, then I kill you." I trained my own wand at him.

"You're not a killer, Potter."

I stared at him grimly. "Haven't you read the _Prophet_?"

"You didn't kill Noble and you didn't kill Davis. _I_ killed them. Just like I killed Moody and Sirius."

It was as though the room had faded and all I could see was this man on a backdrop of blood red. I raised my wand above me, the two fatal words ready.

"_Crucio!"_ he hissed. While stock still, I could see the pain in Tracey's watering eyes. I flinched and lowered my wand. What else could I do?

"Good boy, Potter. If you want your girlfriend to live, then you will follow my instructions exactly. Deviate and I will not hesitate to end her–"

He was cut off as Dean tumbled out of mid-air and landed, hands first, beside me. "Sorry I'm late, Harry," he said, "Snape was holding me up after my little distraction and he wouldn't–"

He stopped mid-sentence, taking in the scene. His eyes moved from me to Tracey and then rested on the Death Eater. He looked as though he had seen a ghost for the first time. To my surprise, the Death Eater's expression was almost identical to Dean's. As I looked between the two, I realised that their expressions were not the only thing that was identical. They shared the same nose, the same mouth, the same wide shoulders, the same hairline. Could it be?

"Dad?" whispered Dean.

That was all the evidence I needed. I grabbed Dean and held my wand to his temple, disarming and body-binding him in the process. I made sure he could talk, however. Dean's father flinched as I did so.

The far wall began to flicker. I ignored it, however, and eyed Dean's father triumphantly.

"Dean...my dear boy..."

"I'm not going to hurt you," I whispered, so only Dean could hear.

Either he hadn't heard me or he chose to ignore me, staring instead, at his father. "This is impossible...you're dead..."

"I'm sorry, Dean, I had to...I had no choice..."

The far wall flickered again.

"Tell him," I said, "tell him what you are."

Dean's father shot me a murderous look, but it melted away as his gaze moved back to Dean. I contemplated how I would extract Tracey, who was watching the exchange wide-eyed. If I moved, there was no doubt that Dean's father would snap out of his reverie and kill her. If I tried to move her, he'd kill her. But then again, he thought I'd kill Dean if he made any wrong moves. I tried to rack my brain for a solution, and expected to find one, but it was as though my mind was blank. It was a stalemate, then.

"Where were you?" said Dean. "Why did you abandon us?"

Dean's father seemed unable to speak. "Go on," I said, "tell him what you've been doing."

"You wouldn't understand, Dean," said his father, "it was the First War..."

"You were meant to have been killed by Rabastan Lestrange! Do you know how mum reacts whenever your name is brought up? Why? Why have you been hiding from us?"

"Circumstances...I had no choice...I had to protect you..."

The flickering of the wall grew faster.

"And you!" He rounded on me furiously. "You lied to me! You said he died!"

"I thought he was dead, too," I said. "I only told you what I'd been told. The first I saw of him, he was standing right there on Voldemort's orders."

Dean flinched, and began muttering, "No...no..."

"Don't listen to him!" cried his father. "I can explain, Dean! I swear I can explain!"

"Are you a Death Eater?" cried Dean.

"Please, let me explain..."

"Just answer the fucking question! Are you a Death Eater?"

"I'm sorry, Dean, I'm so sorry..."

"Kill him, Harry." There was such finality and venom in his voice that I was taken aback.

"I can't," I said, "not yet." And it was true. Even with the distraction of Dean, if I tried to kill his father, he would kill Tracey.

"Then let me do it!" Dean cried.

"Will you let me explain?" yelled his father, panicking now.

"There's nothing to explain! I've always wanted to hunt Death Eaters, and if you're one of them, that means you, too. Do you know what you did to mum? You've never seen her cry at night, holding a photo of you, have you?"

"I DID IT TO KEEP YOU SAFE!"

Dean fell silent and stared at his father, who was breathing heavily, a vein bulging at his temple. He continued, "it was 1980 and the Dark Lord was winning. The Ministry was falling apart, top officials kept disappearing, Muggleborns were being killed left, right and centre. I watched as one by one my friends were killed for resisting him. Dumbledore couldn't keep up with the Dark Lord for much longer – nobody could. What would happen when Dumbledore died or the Dark Lord ran out of Muggleborns? Either one was inevitable. If Dumbledore died, Voldemort would meet no resistance; if he ran out of Muggleborns, then the Half-bloods were next, and that meant us. I was already a target because I married your mother and aligned myself with the Potters. The Prewetts, the McKinnons, the Bones'...he destroyed all of them. What chance did _we_ have when he tore apart some of the most powerful witches and wizards of the age?

"I tried to warn your mother, but she never really understood how bad the war was getting. I begged her to move away with you and assume a new identity in another country, but she refused. After all, she had a great job and we lived in our dream home. There was no way I could uproot her, and I refused to turn my wand against her.

"I tried to get help from Dumbledore, but he was always busy. Just as I had decided to find your mother a better job and better house in America, he found me." Dean's father shuddered. "I remember it well since it was about two weeks before he fell. He tortured me...God, he tortured me but I refused to give in. He wanted to know where the Potters were and I didn't know. You don't understand, son...you'll never know the full power of the Dark Lord. I would have accepted death with open arms had it not been for you and your mother. He has demonic powers...he _knew_ that I would do anything for you.

"He said he would kill you and your mother unless I...unless I joined him. He got Lestrange to kill a Muggle whom he made look like me. I became his secret Death Eater, charged to do what nobody else could.

"Under his command, I fashioned myself a new guise – a new Auror recruit named Kingsley Shacklebolt. When the Dark Lord fell, I knew he was alive still, biding his time, waiting for the right moment to return to power. So I, too, remained in the shadows. Continuing my orders from before he fell, I used some magic he taught me to detect when the Knights of Walpurgis are being mentioned and kept Potter in the hands of the Muggles, weak and ready for when the Dark Lord rose again." He turned to me now.

"Haven't you ever wondered," he said, "why none of your parents' many friends took you in? _I_ convinced Black to go after Pettigrew under the guise of Shacklebolt. _I_ made sure the Minister passed the decree that prevented Lupin from becoming your legal guardian. Once I had cemented my position as his bodyguard, it was not difficult to place him under the Imperius Curse. _I_ convinced Lupin not to break the decree and run off with you, as he was planning. _I_ neutralised every witch or wizard that felt they had some right over you. Whose idea do you think it was to incarcerate Davis? Surely you do not think that Fudge has the guile to force the girl to send you a note of pleading?"

My vision was clouding with anger. This was the man who was responsible for my miserable childhood. He was why I was with the Dursleys. If it weren't for him, I would be living with Sirius Black, not worrying about Voldemort or his stupid Horcruxes. He had robbed me of my childhood. But I couldn't hex him...not yet, not while he was still held Tracey.

"When Black escaped," he continued, "I knew he would try and find you so I stationed myself across the road from your Aunt's house. I neutralised the threat he posed to the Dark Lord's plans. I neutralised Moody as soon as I could manage after he became a liability. I killed Davis in the hope that you would be incarcerated, Noble because he was beginning to fight against the Imperius I had over him.

"All I'm trying to do is protect my family. How can I be sure that the Dark Lord does not have one of his servants tailing _me_? How can I be sure that my family won't be killed as soon as I stop trying to fulfil the goals set out to me by the Dark Lord?" He turned to Dean now, almost pleading. "I'm not a bad man. Family's important and all I've tried to do is protect mine."

Dean's lip quivered. "Free my arms," he whispered to me. With the barest flick of my wand, I released his arms from the body bind. Almost as soon as I had done so, he rolled up his sleeve to reveal the tattoo I had given him. Dean's father stared at the tattoo quizzically, as an art collector would an intriguing piece.

"No," he muttered.

"Yes," I said, "you made the wrong decisions, your son made the right ones. Now release Tracey."

He kept his wand at her head defiantly. "You don't know what you're doing, do you, boy? Did you brand him?" Perhaps it was just my eyes, but it seemed like a mist was growing behind Dean's father.

"I chose to join him," said Dean.

Dean's father did something then that startled me to silence. He threw his head back and roared with laughter. When it looked like he wouldn't subdue his manic laughter, I said, "Release Tracey or I swear to God I'll kill him."

My outburst only served to fuel fresh waves of laughter. The mist behind him was darkening. Using his weakness, I went to stun him. In a flash, a pale red bubble surrounded both he and Tracey. He was no longer laughing. "It was funny," he said, "but not _that_ funny. Dean, stop this madness, you're trapped in a web made for Potter."

"What are you talking about?" I snapped.

"You really don't know?" said Dean's father, truly astonished now. "I thought you would have worked it out alone..."

"Don't listen to him, Harry," said Dean coldly, "he's not to be trusted. He's a Death Eater."

Dean's father's eyes flashed with anger. "I explained myself, didn't I? One day, you'll be a father and then you'll truly understand my sacrifice. Until then, stop speaking about that which you don't understand, you stupid boy."

When the last syllable died, several things happened at once. Dean wrenched my wand from my hand and sent a Bludgeoning Hex at his father, Dean's father banished Tracey and the black mist rushed at Dean's father.

I snapped into action and retrieved my wand as Dean's father, his eyes now red, sent the Bludgeoning Curse back at Dean. I sprinted towards Tracey, who lay slumped at the base of the far wall. I looked over my shoulder and saw Dean collapse, his weak shield shattered by the impact of his own curse. His father was on his knees clutching his head screaming. I made out the words, "Master...forgive me! The boy! Possess the boy!"

I lifted Tracey's head and brushed aside her matted black curls. Blood was slowly seeping from a wound on her forehead and was rolling down her cheeks like tears. I could feel her hot breath against my face.

"Harry," she whispered, "the wand."

In her hand was Ravenclaw's Wand, black and wrangled, as if it had rotted. I looked back up at Tracey, my mouth ajar.

"You did it, Tracey!" I said, hardly daring to believe it. "How?"

"I used the vial of Phoenix tears f-father gave to me last year." She pointed at her neck where her golden necklace was missing the crystal vial.

Could it be? Surely that was the last of the Horcruxes? I refused to believe it. But Voldemort had run out of soul fragments.

"You did it, Harry!" breathed Tracey, her eyes shining with tears. She wrapped her arms around me and rested her head on my shoulder, shaking with silent sobs as she did so.

"How touching."

The cold, high voice went through me like a brisk wind. No...It couldn't be... I prised Tracey off me and slowly turned my head. I was met with a wand trained between my eyes. I traced the wand to its owner – Dean's father. Instead of its usual dark hue, his eyes were red. Voldemort was possessing him.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," he said condescendingly. "You did not think you would rid of me so easily, did you? I, who have swum in oceans unknown to any wizard before me. Surely you did not think that you, a mere fifteen year-old boy, had defeated the greatest wizard in history?"

I swallowed my surprise and fear, and forced myself to smile. The effort of it hurt my cheeks. "Looks like you've won," I said quietly. I had to keep him talking. I had to distract him somehow. I shuffled slightly to my right, blocking Tracey from his line of fire. "But I don't understand how you did it. Do you have a Horcrux I'm unaware of?"

Voldemort, in his guise as Dean's father, laughed. "Yes...and no. Truly, I'm disappointed, Harry. I had expected you to solve this riddle alone. You have worked out, have you not, that I sought to make a Horcrux out of that very wand the night I tried to kill you?" I nodded slowly. "What you seem not to realise is I made two mistakes that night – mistakes I thought would be my undoing.

"You see, Harry, I _did_ create a Horcrux that night...the Horcrux was you."

I froze. "No...that's impossible. Horcruxes have to be objects."

"You are ill-informed; it is advised that a Horcrux is an object, but it is not a requisite. Part of my soul entered you that night, resulting in your ability to speak with snakes. To your credit, I did not know the Wand was not a Horcrux of mine until very recently myself."

"Is that why you got Ginny Weasley to move the wand?" I said quietly.

"Very good, Harry. I knew that Godric's Hollow was not an ideal location for one of my Horcruxes – I thus used the Weasley girl to transport it to a far more secure location."

"How did you make it a Portkey, then?" I felt utterly useless – there was absolutely nothing I could do that wouldn't provoke Voldemort's wrath.

"The heir of Slytherin cannot be kept from what is rightfully his. Thomas was kind enough to transport me to Slytherin's study. It was he who created the Portkey to this construct."

"How long did it take you to make the Labyrinth?" I said, running out of places to take the conversation.

To my surprise Voldemort laughed again. "Labyrinth? This is no Labyrinth, Harry. Surely you do not still think..." He titled his head to the right as if considering me. The cold smile returned to his face. He rolled up his sleeve to reveal the Knight tattoo and tapped it with his wand. The spears withdrew from the skull and merged into one, coiling as they did so – they had become a snake. The snake slithered through the skull's open mouth. It was the Dark Mark.

"Nice transfiguration," I said derisively.

"How woefully ignorant you are, Harry. There is no such thing as the Knights of Walpurgis."

I felt myself recoil. What was he talking about? "That's impossible," I said, "I saw the memories."

"You need to learn the difference between dreams and reality. I felt it when you destroyed my diary and thus made my slow and painful journey back to these shores. It took a year to return to England and my reluctant servant Thomas. When I found him, he relayed some curious information to me – he found memories of boy named Tom Riddle in your mind the night he killed Sirius Black. Coupled with your knowledge of Parseltongue, I realised that you were my Horcrux. Because of this, you possessed the ability to absorb pieces of my soul."

"What do you mean?"

"When you destroyed the diary, you did not destroy the piece of my soul – you released it. Once released, the shred of soul seeks others similar to it, but eventually fades away without an object to sustain it. However, you had some of my soul in you meaning the shred of soul in the diary joined the shred inside you. In effect, my influence on you grew, enough that I could now transfer memories between us. I am surprised you did not research this – surprised, and a little saddened. Your ignorance is your downfall.

"Thomas discovered that Alastor had divulged the name of our little group, for we _were_ allies at one time, Alastor, Maximus and I. Outcast by our peers, we swore to exact revenge upon them, and cleverly named our alliance the Knights of Walpurgis, after Walpurgis Night. The friendship did not last, however. By the end of our third year, our ideas began to clash and I chose power while they chose weakness.

"When Thomas informed me that you were only told the name of the group, I formed the plan that led here, to this very room. I began sending you false memories of our alliance lasting beyond our school years. As you destroyed more Horcruxes, your soul grew weaker and mine stronger. I was able to send you memories more frequently. I admit there were mistakes involving the power of the memories – I did not foresee your destruction of my Death Eaters, for example. Meanwhile, Thomas murdered all those who could possibly reveal the truth to you, starting with Moody.

"Noble was a friend of your grandfather's and was able to forge that letter you cling so dearly to under the Imperius Curse. Thomas planted those memories into the mind of the Head Guard of Azkaban. He even went to the trouble of planting false information in your Mudblood friend's copy of _Wizarding Movements of the Twentieth Century_. But why, Harry, why did I want you to believe this lie? There are two reasons. Firstly, I had hoped that it would lead you here where there was no escape. You see, this 'labyrinth' is simply my father's house under glamour. The wards alerted Thomas of your presence here, and he was able to Apparate directly here, to my father's study."

Voldemort flicked his wand upwards. A crack appeared up the walls and across the ceiling. The two halves of the dome dissipated from the crack outwards, like a fissure in the earth's crust. Very soon, the dome had completely disappeared, leaving in its stead an ordinary study. To my right was a sweeping mahogany table positioned just under an arched window. To my left was the door, made of a light wood, possibly Beech.

My heart sank. So it was true. He had tricked me. All those memories, all those dreams...they were fake. My head felt light – that letter...it was fake. Dumbledore was right – Maximus gave up on Tom.

"In the wake of the Knights of Walpurgis memories, you were more willing to accept my advice and direction. Thomas' forged note of Dumbledore's told you to go to Godric's Hollow and you obeyed without question. I revealed the memory of the Weasley girl moving the Wand and you went straight to the Chamber, as I had expected. You solved the riddles, as I had expected. You destroyed the Cup when you stumbled across the Basilisk, as I had expected – they were only the result of a hobby of mine, after all; hardly a defence mechanism. I showed you the memory of my correspondence with Slytherin and it weakened you, as I had expected. You see the ingenuity of my plan, Harry? You see why I am so feared and respected? The Knights of Walpurgis is a myth.

"The other reason for spinning this lie is far more straightforward. Since your head was turned, it meant that my true motives for allowing, even encouraging, you to destroy Horcruxes was kept under wraps. You see, Harry, you now have five-sixths of my soul in you – Thomas was foolish enough to destroy one part when he cast the killing curse at you and expelled me. Essentially, I have slowly turned you into myself at fifteen. You are weak and vulnerable, but with the final jigsaw in place, you will complete your transformation from Harry Potter to Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort will rise again, more powerful than ever. I will use Dumbledore's blind love for you to kill him when he least expects it. I shall retrace my steps towards immortality and learn from my mistakes. This is the end for you and the second rise of the greatest Dark Lord this world has ever seen. Goodbye, Harry Potter."

Voldemort, in his form as a foul mist, emerged from Dean's father, who immediately collapsed like a ragdoll. I braced myself. I would not let him take me over. Not this time.

Voldemort launched himself at me and I stood my ground. As soon as he entered me, I felt intense heat that centred around my scar.

_You will lose._

This time I was ready for him. I conjured the memory of Sirius dying, of the bullet impaling between his eyes. He could have been a father to me. We could have lived together if it weren't for Voldemort. But he would never understand how I felt – he never had anyone like Sirius.

_Your efforts are futile._

I thought of Hermione next. Of her vulnerability and compassion. She who above all others was there when I needed her most. She stayed with me when the entire wizarding world had turned against me. If I had ever experienced true friendship, it was through Hermione. But Voldemort had never been with a true friend. He hated everyone at the orphanage and never let anyone close, even at Hogwarts.

_You cannot win._

Was I imagining things or was my scar less painful now? I conjured all the memories I could of Tracey: my infatuation of her, the joy I had felt when she let me take her out, the comfort I had felt lying next to her, the pain I had felt when she thought I had killed her father. I could feel a tugging at my mind – Voldemort was trying to encourage the bitterness I had felt towards her but I would not let him. She had come back to me, had she not? She came with me to Godric's Hollow and supported me in my moment of weakness and she lay next to me, now, waiting to embrace me when I defeated Voldemort.

_You...will...not...defeat...me..._

His grip on my mind was weakening. Was it not true that my whole, untainted soul was more powerful than his incomplete, fractured one? This fact gave me strength and I continued to unravel memories of love and pain and happiness – memories Voldemort could not comprehend. His resistance against these memories was faltering.

Finally, my thoughts rested on my parents, Lily and James. They had lived in Godric's Hollow once; a young, happy family, but Voldemort had taken them away from me. All I had left of them was their fucking facial features. But Voldemort did not understand how it felt – how I felt at Godric's Hollow. That's why he was silent. He hated his mother who could not bring him up, despite her managing to get to an orphanage while in labour. He hated the orphanage even though the staff tried their best to raise him. He hated Dumbledore, even though he tried to save Voldemort from the darkness. Voldemort never gave trust a try and as a result, he was now a dying wisp of smoke.

I felt something, as strong and bitter as bile, rise up from deep inside me. As it rose, it grew stronger and I began retching, hoping it was vomit that would soon plunge out of me. My legs felt weak and I fell to my knees. I put my hands on the floor and heaved so violently that I began to feel light-headed. I could feel it...whatever it was...coming closer to the surface.

My head suddenly grew hotter than ever and with one last retch, the smoke that was Voldemort, now black as the night sky, escaped me. When I breathed the final puff, I collapsed onto my side.

As the smoke floated out of the window, Voldemort's words came to me:

_Once released, the shred of soul seeks others similar to it, but eventually fades away without an object to sustain it._

I smiled. "Goodbye, Tom Riddle," I whispered, before I allowed the exhaustion to sink in and the darkness to take me.

I was free.

* * *

The dying rays of the October sun cast a crimson radiance across the Yorkshire countryside. I climbed the steep, grassy hill that cowered in the wake of Davis Manor. I took, as I did my first visit, a side-long glance at the dark river, its murky water glimmering under the failing light as it whistled past. 

As I approached the brow of the hill, I noticed that Terry, Tracey and Hermione were sitting around one of the picnic tables, deep in conversation. They did not notice me approaching. I smiled as I approached. They alone were truly faithful, they alone never doubted me.

It was not until my shadow was cast across the wooden table that any of them looked up. Hermione was the first to react. She broke into a smile, jumped to her feet and embraced me.

"Oh, Harry," she said, "I can't believe you did it!" I smiled reluctantly. "Tracey was telling us all about it! I mean, it wasn't like I expected You-Know-Who to beat _you_ but, gosh, it must have been so difficult-"

"Let the man breathe, Hermione," said Terry. I shot Terry an appreciative look, which he returned with a wink. As Hermione returned to her seat, a little flustered, he rose and clapped me on the shoulder. "I knew you would...my Lord."

I smiled and patted him on the shoulder in return. Finally, I sat next to Tracey and wrapped my arm around her waist, and in return she rested her head on my shoulder. There were no words that would do the moment justice, and I knew it as well as she.

"How was your meeting with Dumbledore?" asked Hermione finally.

"Fine," I said quietly. "He didn't approve of my means but the ends have been reached."

"And Thomas?" asked Tracey.

"Dean is in the Hospital Wing," I said. "He's still enthusiastic about the Knights despite everything that's happened. His father's in St. Mungo's – there's little hope he'll recover from such an aggressive possession."

"And the Ministry?" said Terry.

"The Ministry?" I said, barely above a whisper, staring at Terry's Mark, which was clear as ever. "The Ministry _will_ fall."

**The End**

* * *

I don't generally explain myself outside of the chapters but I feel I owe it to those of you who were hoping for a H/Hr ending. My original plan had Tracey die in this chapter. In that plan, Hermione fulfilled the role Tracey has in these past few chapters. Because I gave Tracey a reprieve some weeks ago now, it meant that the final pairing significantly changed. I did not say earlier as it would have ruined the ending. 

Thank you all for your contributions, I appreciated them greatly. I hope you have enjoyed my story as much as I did writing it.

Just a quick plug: I've got a new fic out called 'Through the Grapevine'. It's very different to this one in that Harry is sane and completely Light-sided throughout. Having said that, the fact that it will be based in the middle of the First War will make it a little darker than your average post-DH fic. If you're worried about it being H/G – don't be. I'm planning to turn Ginny into a likeable, useful character who deserves to be with Harry. Also, if you like Sirius, then you'll be happy to know that he's involved, too.

Oh, and I'd like to take this opportunity to shamelessly promote a brand new website for Harry Potter fanfiction that myself and a few friends of mine have developed. Its focus is primarily on writing, but there's plenty of fun for readers, too, including story recommendations, interviews with fanfic authors, articles on magical theory and articles on the various aspects of writing. It's set as my homepage so you can access it there (I've at least got the humility not to post a direct link here, heh). Check it out!

- Master Slytherin


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